Homecoming Parade
by Bob Bobbity
Summary: Claire Stanton has finally returned home to Charming. Now, she needs to figure out how to reconcile her past with a second chance at freedom.Tig/OC.
1. Pilot

Claire Stanton was beginning to enjoy her life. She had a job that she enjoyed, and was her own boss to boot. She was even living on her own in the small apartment above her bakery.

Granted, she didn't own the building that was her livelihood, the bank did. Just give her a little time though, she thought as she opened up for the day, and the property would be hers.

After propping open the front door, she went back inside to man the counter. Abby was late. Again. Ordinarily, Abby would be the one working the register and dealing with the customers, but she had a tendency to drink all night and party through the beginning of her shift. Claire couldn't protest though, Abby was one of the few people willing to work for the low wages that Claire could afford to pay her. Claire could do the job herself, she supposed, but she preferred working in the kitchen, cooking and baking. She was pretty sure the customers preferred it that way too.

"Oh. Claire. Hello. Where's Abigail this morning?"

Irma Jennings was an acquaintance of Claire's parents and loved to gossip. A poor combination in Claire's opinion. She sauntered up to the register in her sensible shoes and age appropriate clothes.

Clair put both of her hands on top of the display counter, bracing herself. "She's running a little late today. I can help you though."

Claire would never understand why these people, who claimed to dislike her so much, actually shopped at her bakery. Maybe it was the freak show appeal. They all wanted to get a good look at Claire Stanton, and if they had to spend some money on a muffin to do so, then so be it.

Irma gave her a grim smile, lips pressed tightly together. "I suppose. I'm here to pick up a cake? It's for my grandson's birthday."

"Right. Let me grab that for you." She turned around to search through the refrigerator behind the counter. "How old is he?" She asked over her shoulder.

"He's going to be six."

"Oh. That's nice." Clair commented, returning to the counter with the boxed cake. "That's a great age."

A bit of a genuine smile appeared on Irma's face. Thinking of her grandson must have made her forget who she was talking too. "Yes, it is." Then she remembered. "It's a pity your parents don't have any grandchildren."

Claire tried to shrug off the mention of her parents.

"But then again, perhaps it's for the best. After all, you're their only child with Shannon gone and one wouldn't imagine that motherhood would be the best choice for you."

The snide comments and stinging remarks weren't a surprise to Claire anymore. Still, the memory of Shannon and what had happened that night still made Claire's stomach drop.

She looked Irma in the eye with determination. "No. I suppose not." She had made a promise to herself when she came back to town that she would be a better person. That she would be better than what people expected of her. "That's going to be thirty-six fifty, Mrs. Jennings."

The older woman paid, took her cake, and made for the exit. Just before she walked out the doorway though, she turned around and looked back at Claire. "Just because you came back to this town a reformed woman, don't expect the people around here to forget what you did."

Claire scoffed at the retiree. Sometimes, all the politeness in the world couldn't erase the memory of a small town. "Don't worry, bitch. You and the rest of the old biddies around here have made that perfectly clear."

Irma seemed a little shaken by Claire's sudden harshness, and she exited the shop in a huff. She nearly knocked over Abby as the younger girl rushed in off the sidewalk.

Abby stopped short in the middle of the shop and watched Mrs. Jennings retreat. Then she lifted her shades and gave her employer and friend the once over.

Claire wasn't that much older than her. Maybe four or five added onto her twenty four years. Today though, the stress on her face seemed to age her a decade.

Claire noticed Abby examining her. "Where the fuck have you been?"

Abby was still wearing her clothes from last night. Jeans that were too tight and torn in the knee and a black top that showed off a fair amount of cleavage. Her makeup needed to be fixed and there was an enormous hickey at the base of her neck.

Abby rolled her eyes and answered, "You know where," as she walked around the counter and stashed her handbag under the register. "Irma is such a bitch. What did she say this time?"

Claire shook her head. "Nothing really, she was just making little comments about Shannon and the fire. Acting like she actually knows what happened."

Abby gave her friend a soft pat on the shoulder. "I'm sorry you had to deal with that, girl. I'll try harder to get here on time."

Claire let out a tired laugh.

"What was that for?" Abby asked defensively, checking the change in the cash drawer.

"You? On time? I'll believe that when I see it," she tossed over her shoulder as she made for the kitchen.

Abby rolled her eyes again. "Shut up."

"Oh," Claire held the swinging door open with her foot and looked pointedly at her friend's neck. "And if you insist on whoring around at that garage, at least try not to advertise it to the customers." She smiled and let the door swing shut behind her.

Abby's eyes were in serious danger of rolling back into her head. "Bitch, you need to get laid. Like, yesterday."

* * *

><p>Claire worked in the kitchen for the rest of the morning, getting caught up on orders. Abby popped her head in the back just before they were due to go on break.<p>

"You might want to make some more rye for tomorrow or something. That shit is flying off the shelves."

Claire looked up, "Yeah?"

"Mm-hm. It's all these people on those low fat, high fiber diets. They can't get enough of it."

Claire shrugged. "Huh. I'll see what I can do."

Abby continued to linger in the doorway as Claire whipped down the stainless steel work surfaces.

"Was there something else Abby?"

Abby thought about it. "Not really." She tapped her foot. "Well, kind of. But it's no big deal."

Claire looked at the girl. She was a usually nothing but upfront about the things in her life; sometimes a little too upfront. "What is it Abbs?"

Abby sighed and looked Claire straight in the eye. "Did you hear about that explosion last night?"

Claire furrowed her brow. "No. What happened?"

Abby shrugged. "Some cabin up in the woods. Went up like a friggin' mushroom cloud."

"Christ."

"Yeah"

"How'd that happen?"

Abby shrugged again. "Don't know. And neither does anyone else. I just thought you should be aware, 'cause people are talking. They're saying that, well, that maybe you did it."

"Are you shitting me?"

Abby shook her head.

This was just what she needed. More people blaming her for more shit that she didn't do.

"Well, thanks for the heads up. I'm gonna go take my lunch. I'll see you back here at one."

Abby didn't leave. "Claire. You didn't-"

Claire scoffed. "Jesus Christ Abby, you think it was me?"

"No. Not really." She shrugged and thought about what she was going to say. "It's just people talk, and I wanted to hear it from you; the truth."

"Well, it wasn't me. I didn't set fire to anything last night."

Abby nodded. "That's all I needed to know. I'll see you after lunch."

* * *

><p>Jax was talking to the doctor with Gemma. Chibs couldn't tell what they were sayin', but judging from their expressions, the news wasn't good. He felt for his brother. He knew the pain that having children could cause you.<p>

A hand on his shoulder roused him from his thoughts. He turned around to see that a hospital orderly was trying to get his attention. She was pretty, and a little on the young side. He was sure he'd seen her somewhere before, but for the life of him couldn't think of her name.

"Can I help you, darlin?"

"Yeah." She smiled and blushed a little. "I was just wondering if you had a good time the other night?"

Chibs bluffed without pausing. "Sure thing sweetheart. You should pop in again sometime."

She giggled. "Yeah, I just might." She looked over her shoulder and noticed all of the other sons in the hallway. "Are you guys here about the explosion last night or something?"

Cobs remained impassive. He wanted to see where she was going with this.

"I mean, the whole town's talking about it."

"Really now? And what are they saying?"

The girl shrugged.

"You know. Talking shit, trying to think of who could've done it."

* * *

><p>"We'll have all Mayan intel by the morning. We'll have OUR guns back."<p>

"Oh yes we will."

"Speaking of the Mayans," Chibs interjected, "There's a chance some of the locals might be in bed with them."

Clay puffed on his cigar, "What locals?"

"Our locals."

Juice was flabbergasted. "The fuck are you talking about man?"

"I was talking with an orderly at the hospital today. We all know that it was the Mayans behind this, but they all seem to think it was this local girl, just moved back to town a few months ago. Claire Stanton. Apparently she's quite the fire starter." Chins took a drag on his cigarette. "Accidentally killed her older sister when she lit up her family's garage."

Jax nodded. "I remember that. She was a few years behind me in school. Got carted off to fucking juvie after that."

"You think she's in bed with the Mayans?" Clay questioned. "That she's responsible for that blast up there?"

Chins shrugged. "Don't know. But it couldn't hurt to look into it."

Clay nodded. "Alright, where can we find the little pyro?"

"Don't know where she lives, but the orderly said she runs that new bakery in town."

Juice's brow furrowed. "Isn't that where that girl Abby works?"

Tig raised a brow, "That brunette sweetbutt?"

Juice nodded.

"She's got great tits."

"You know this girl?" Clay asked.

Tig nodded. "In a way, I guess I do."

"Alright, stop by that bakery tomorrow. See what you can find out."

"Consider it done."

Clay nodded. "Treasury?"

* * *

><p>After the meeting with Darby the next morning, Tig stopped in at the bakery. There wasn't much to the storefront; just plate glass windows offering a view of the interior. He could see Abby standing at the register, picking at her nails. There was a sign over the door reading "Claire's Place," and that was it.<p>

He walked inside. The sound of his boots on the hardwood floor had Abby looking up. When she noticed who it was, she smiled with familiarity.

"Hey Tig."

"Abby. Long time no see."

She shifted her weight. "I know."

"Didn't see you over at the club house last night."

She sighed. "I know. I had some family business to take care of."

He shrugged," Whatever."

She raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing here anyway?"

He took off his shades, and hooked them onto the front of his cut. "Club business, sweetheart. I need to talk with your boss."

Abby's eyebrow shot up even further. "_Claire_?"

Tig nodded.

Abby shrugged. "She's in the back. You want me to go get her for you?"

He shook his head. "Nah, I'll go find her myself. Wouldn't want to separate you from your work," he explained as another customer came in.

Tig slipped behind the counter and made for the kitchen as Abby turned to help the other person in the shop.

She didn't look like someone who would blow up a munitions factory, but then again appearances could be deceiving. She had a lot of red hair, pulled back in a messy bun. She wore a stained white apron over a green t shirt and jeans, and was covered up to her elbows in flour. She wasn't bad looking. Not really great looking either, though.

Claire was kneading bread dough when she heard someone clear their throat. She looked up from her work to find a man in her kitchen, dressed in all black. She took in his wild hair, facial hair, and finally his cut. Sons. In her kitchen. This couldn't be good.

"Can I help you?" she asked with a warning tone in her voice.

"Yeah, I need to have a word with you."

She smirked at him. "Sorry. My mother always told me not to talk to strangers. Now, if you'll excuse me." She moved to return to her work, but a solid hand clamped down on her shoulder and turned her to face him.

Claire was tired of the people in Charming treating her like shit. She was tired of them using her to suit their own purposes and not giving a damn about what happened afterwards.

When the biker grabbed her shoulder, she caught him off balance and shoved him into a large standing mixer. While he was stumbling over the mixing bowl, she reached for one of the chefs knives she kept in the box on the wall. By the time he regained his footing, she had it pointed at him.

"You stupid bitch, do you have any idea who the fuck I am?"

Claire shook her head. "I don't give a shit about the patches you're wearing. This is MY kitchen, do you understand. You don't have any authority in here."

The angry biker reached underneath his leather vest, pulled out a hand gun, and pointed it right at Claire's chest.

"Put down the knife bitch."

It was right then that Abby stormed through the door to the front of the shop. "What was that noise?" She looked at Tig and Claire, looked and the gun and the knife. "Jesus Christ. What the fuck is going on?"

Neither one of them looked at her. Tig was the first one to speak up. "Tell your crazy-assed boss to put down the knife Abby."

Abby looked at Claire. Something inside her had snapped. "Claire? What are you doing? Put down the knife girl."

Claire shook her head, dislodging a few strands of hair.

Abby slowly moved so that she was standing in between the two of them, right in the line of fire. "C'mon Claire, put down the knife. No one's going to hurt you."

Claire looked at her friend, and looked at the knife. Then she looked back at Abby and heard the knife clatter to the floor.

Tig lowered his gun and stared at the pair of them. _What the hell had just happened here_? He asked himself. Women like this were the reason he had gotten divorced in the first place.

"Look, The only reason I came here was because I need to ask some questions."

Abby looked over at him. "About the explosion?"

He nodded. "How did you know?"

Abby rolled her eyes. "People have been coming in here for the past two days giving her shit about it."

Tig shrugged. "I don't care about her fragile constitution. I need to know if she's involved."

"I'm not." Claire leaned against the counter behind her in an attempt to steady herself. "I didn't have anything to do with that."

"What about the Mayans? You have anything to do with them?"

Both of the girls looked at him in confusion. "Tig, what the hell is this about?" Abby asked.

He stared at Claire. "Just answer the question."

She looked around her kitchen and muttered, "I don't believe this" under her breath. Then she looked back at him. "I don't have any affiliations with anyone, alright? I just moved back here two months ago to start my life over, alright? I haven't done anything wrong."

"You got an alibi for the other night?"

Claire thought about it. "What time was the blast?"

"Around nine, nine thirty?"

"Yeah. I was in my apartment, on the phone with my parole officer. Check the records." For someone who had just pulled a knife on him, she seemed a little sheepish about having a parole officer.

Tig looked at Abby. "You vouch for her?"

Abby nodded.

"Alright," Tig holstered his weapon, "I'll see you later Abbs." He pointed at Claire, "You stop pulling knives on people." And with that, Tig ended his first visit to Claire's bakery.

Claire was closing up the shop when the Sons road down main street late in the afternoon, heading out of Charming.

"You need to make that right," Abby insisted as she counted the bills in the cash drawer.

"Nothing happened," Claire insisted as she locked the front door.

"Are you shitting me? You pulled a knife on Tig Traeger. Even if you don't hang around with samcro, you don't do shit like that around here of you know what's good for you."

Claire chuckled as she moved to shut off the lights. "Evidently, I don't." Even in the dark, she could sense Abby rolling her eyes.

"Next time I head over there, I'm dragging you with me. Gonna make you apologize."

The two of them walked through the kitchen towards the back exit. "I'd like to see you try."

"I will try, and I will succeed." She turned to go find her car as Claire started up the back steps to her apartment. "Who knows," she tossed over her shoulder, "I might even get you laid."


	2. Seeds

Claire was wide awake at four in the morning. She didn't sleep very well anymore. It was too quiet in her apartment. Being in prison, she had gotten used to the sounds of her cellmate and the other women in the cell block. But here? Here she was all alone.

She sat up and turned off her alarm clock. It wasn't due to go off for another hour. She should probably get a TV, or a radio even. Maybe the white noise would help her sleep better at night. Either way, she needed to get something. She'd been living in the apartment for two months now, and it still felt less like home than prison had.

She could see out one of the flat's windows from where she was sitting. Dark blues and purples littered the sky, signaling that dawn wasn't far off. It was as a good a time as any to start her day.

Coffee, shower, breakfast; the little routine that she'd started her first day on the outside had become exactly that. By the time she had finished her cereal, the sun was beginning to cast flecks of gold around her kitchen; time to go to work.

She'd done most of the prep work last night for the things that needed to be baked fresh for the morning crowd. Muffins, some doughnuts, and other pastries; all she needed to do was put them into bake. Before long, the kitchen was filled with warm comforting smells. She smiled.

Claire was frosting some cupcakes when Abby flounced in. "Good morning boss lady," she declared in a bored yet cheerful voice.

Claire looked up from the oven she was checking. "Look at you, on time and everything. Did you stay in last night or something?"

"You know Claire; I don't go out drinking every night. It's not a necessity to me."

"Nothing going on?"

Abby sighed, "Nothing. The place was a ghost town."

"Bummer. Now go open up."

"Yes, ma'am." Abby gave her boss a sarcastic little salute before she walked through the swinging doors to the front of the shop. She stashed her bag and opened things up for the day. Then she stood behind the counter and waited.

Now, Abby loved Claire to death, even if she was a little weirdo. And she generally liked working in her shop. It was just that sometimes it was so... boring. Especially in the early morning hours.

Claire came through the swinging doors carrying a tray of muffins for the display case. Abby trying to think of something that she could complain about when she heard a motorcycle engine pull up outside and come to a stop. _What did we have here? _Seconds later, Bobby walked through the door.

"Morning ladies."

"Hey Bobby, how're things going?"

"Shitty. Things are always shitty. I'll have the usual, Abby."

Abby looked over at the display case. Claire was still loading it up for the day. "Hey Claire, can you get me a dozen of the organic muffins?"

Bobby looked over at the red head. "You're Claire?" There was a tone of surprise in his voice.

She looked over at the biker, weary. "Yeah."

He gave a little chuckle and held out his hand in greeting. "Name's Bobby. Nice to finally meet you."

She smiled in return, a little confused, and briefly took his hand. "Likewise. Any preference with those muffins?"

He shook his head. "Nah. Just make sure you toss a couple blueberries in there."

Claire nodded and began loading them into a brown paper bag while he paid Abby.

"Here you go."

"Thanks." Bobby returned, taking the bag. "Everyone over at the club house just loves these. It's like you laced them with crank or something."

Claire nodded and smiled in thanks.

Bobby winked. "Well, I'll see you girls later."

Claire went back to arranging the display case. "Well, he was nice." she commented after his bike roared down the street.

Abby scoffed. "Yeah. Bobby's adorable."

* * *

><p>Tig was in the garage when Bobby rode in. He pulled to a stop and hoisted up a big brown bag. "I got the good shit" he declared. Tig followed him into the clubhouse where he dumped the bag full of muffins onto the table.<p>

Piney and Chibs quickly grabbed one up.

"These muffins are great with tequila Bobby."

Chibs concurred. "Aye. Shit's addictive. It's turning me a fat bastard."

Bobby yacked on for a moment about flour or some shit, but he didn't answer the question that was pressing Tig's mind the most.

"Bobby, where'd you get these?" He finally asked.

Bobby looked at him and laughed. "Oh, you're going to love this."

He shook his head vehemently. "No. No, I'm not."

"I actually met her today. She seems nice. Not at all like someone that would blow up a building."

Piney and Jax laughed.

"Yeah, well she doesn't look like she'd pull a knife on you either, but she did. That bitch is crazy."

"The good ones always are," Pinney reflected.

Tig gave the muffins one last look and grabbed a beer instead.

* * *

><p>Darby looked at the empty parking space where his Suburban had been. This whole situation had turned to shit.<p>

The only reason he'd made that deal with the Mayans was because he needed their money and the muscle to help the Nords take down Samcro. And now, that stupid-ass wetback was trying to double cross him. Well fuck him them. Darby would take them all down and keep all of the profits to himself.

Only problem was that he needed some of the money the Alvarez had promised him.

* * *

><p>Abby was dealing with the late afternoon crowd when Darby walked in. <em>Fucking Darby?<em> She thought, _What the hell is going on around here?_

The stupid skin head walked right up to the counter, ignoring the line of customers.

"You need to wait in line," she told him as she bagged a loaf of Italian bread.

"I'm looking for Claire Stanton, not fucking bread."

"She's in the back, but-"

Darby ignored her and walked behind the counter.

"Hey asshole, you can't go back there!" She yelled at him. He ignored her though and disappeared behind the swinging door.

"Fucking Nazis," the next guy in line muttered.

Abby was tempted to go after him, but there were too many people in the shop. _Whatever_, she thought, _let Claire knife the bastard. Do everyone a favor._

Claire looked up when she heard the door swing shut, expecting Abby. Instead, she saw a face that she'd never forget. Ten years ago she'd been too frightened of the man to stand up to him, but she'd learned a thing or two since then.

"You're trespassing." She stated firmly. "Get out of here before I call the police."

Darby laughed at her. "Claire, we both know that you won't do that. If you do, I'll tell everyone the truth about your sister."

Claire stared at him, fighting the urge to throttle him. "What do you want?"

"Money." He answered simply.

"Tough shit," she spat back at him, "I don't really have any to spare."

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a lighter. Fiddled with it. "Well, we both know that you're an extremely resourceful girl. I'm sure you could scrounge something up."

"You done?"

He shrugged. "Just think about it. It'd be easier for everyone if you just gave me what I need voluntarily."

"Leave."

He smiled at her. It was a sick smile. "Nice seeing you again Claire."

* * *

><p>After closing time, Claire told Abby what Darby had said. They went up to her apartment and talked it over. Abby was the only other one that knew the truth about what had happened to Shannon.<p>

"You need help Claire. You can't take on Darby all on your own."

Claire busied herself making tea. She put two mugs of water in the microwave to heat them. "Who's going to help me?" she asked as she leaned against the counter. "Everyone in this town hates me."

"Well, the enemy of my enemy is my friend, right? So, you go to someone who's against Darby. You go to Samcro."

Claire shook her head, "No. I did not come back here to get involved in gang land politics."

Abby held up her hands in frustration. "Then why did you come back? Because that's the only way to survive in this town; by taking a side. You can't go it alone."

Claire ran her hands over her face. She knew in her heart that Abby was right. She'd been gone a long time, but things hadn't changed that much. She knew the way things worked in Charming.

"This could fuck up my parole. You know that right?"

Abby shrugged. "Sons can help you with that. If you're with them, then you're with them Claire. They look after their own."

"I just wanted to move on from all this. I thought, maybe, that the past would stay in the past." She paused and got the mugs out of the microwave, putting the tea bags in to steep. "Who do I talk with over there about this?" she asked.

"Don't worry about it. I'll set it up" she as we're as she took the mug from Claire.

"Thanks. And thanks for letting me vent."

"No problemo." She tried the tea. Too hot. "After all, it's in my best interest to help you out with things like this. Darby, messes with you? I could be out a job."

Claire laughed. "Well, thanks just the same."


	3. Fun Town

"I still don't get why they'd help me," Claire wondered out loud, "I mean, I really have nothing to offer them in return."

"You never know," Abby shrugged, "They need some help with some pretty weird stuff sometimes."

It was Sunday, the only day of the week that Claire closed down the bakery, and the two women were walking down the street towards Teller-Morrow. Abby had shades on to guard her against the early afternoon sun. Claire just squinted.

"Like, my friend Emily, she says that the other day, they needed to get their hands on a couple of dead bodies from the cemetery."

Claire stopped short on the sidewalk stared at Abby. "What the fuck?"

Abby shrugged again. "Don't ask, don't tell." She grabbed Claire's arm and hurried her along. "C'mon we're going to be late."

Claire rolled her eyes, "Oh that's rich, coming from you."

"Claire, these are not guys that you keep waiting."

"And I am?"

Abby scoffed at her and rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean."

"Not really," Claire muttered.

The two turned left and walked into the parking lot attached to the garage. A Charming PD cruiser was parked in front of the open bay doors.

"What are the cops doing here?" Claire wondered out loud.

Abby shrugged.

A couple of the bikers were in deep in conversation with the officer. Abby and Claire stood at a respectful distance until their conversation was finished. Abby knew better than to but her head into club business, and Claire was a little wary of the police.

After a few minutes, the police officer got into his car and left, but a few of his uniforms stayed behind. One of the younger bikers broke away from the discussion and stared walking towards them.

"Hey Abby."

"Hey Jax," she smiled. "This is Claire," she continued gesturing with her arm.

"Aw, nice to meet you." They shook hands. "Abby says we've got some business to discuss?"

She nodded, "Something like that."

He nodded. "Alright, let's head inside. It's a bit more private."

Abby didn't follow, "Actually, I have a few errands to run." she looked at Claire. "Are you going to be ok on your own?"

Claire nodded. "Yeah, I'll be fine. I'll see you tomorrow."

Abby nodded and walked back towards the street.

Claire followed Jax into the club house. There weren't too many words that could accurately describe the giant living room. To call it a man cave would be an understatement. It was poorly lit with a lot of wood paneling and a lot of Harley memorabilia. Jax sat down at one of the tables near the bar and motioned for Claire to sit opposite him.

"So, Abby told me you've been having a problem with Darby?"

Claire rested her forearms on the table. "Yeah. He came to my bakery the other day and tried to get some hush money out of me."

"What for?"

Claire hesitated. Only the handful of people that were close to her knew the whole truth. She didn't know this guy from Adam.

"Look, we'll be able to work together a lot better if you're straight with us."

She nodded. "I know. It's just, what I'm about to tell you? I don't want it spread around too much."

Jax nodded.

"At all really. This is strictly need to know information."

The blond biker pulled a cigarette out of his cut and lit it up. "Trust me darlin', we know how to keep a secret around here."

"Alright." She paused and took a deep breath. "Around ten years ago, my sister was involved with Darby before she died."

"Involved how?"

"She was an addict." Claire answered simply. "She started using about a year before she died. She bought crank from Darby, even started dealing after a couple months. She got in deep really fast."

She had to pause as memory after memory resurfaced. "Guys from Darby's crew used to show up at our house looking to score. My parents called the cops a few times, but they just kept coming back. A couple times they bothered me at school looking for Shannon." She reached up and parted her hair just above her right ear. She knew there was an ugly looking scar there; she'd seen it in the mirror many times. "They gave me this one day. They shoved me into a wall and my head banged against a loose nail."

Jax leaned forward to get a good look at it. "How old were you?"

Claire smoothed her hair back into place. "Sixteen or seventeen."

Jax took a puff from the cigarette. "And no one ever said anything about it? Strange guys showing up for your sister all of a sudden?" he asked, breathing out smoke as he spoke.

She shook her head. "They noticed it yeah, but they never knew that all the guys were for Shannon."

Jax looked confused.

"Everyone thought that they were looking for me." she continued. "I mean, I was a troubled kid. I used to act out. Did some drugs. I used to set things on fire." she paused and tapped her fingers on the table. "A lot."

Jax chuckled. "I remember hearing about you at school. Didn't you set a chemistry class room on fire or something?"

Claire laughed and rolled her eyes. "That whole incident got blown WAY out of proportion. I set fire to some homework papers in a metal trash bin. It just made a lot of smoke."

"Still took some balls."

"Stupidity more like. There's a difference."

Jax shrugged, "Not from where I'm standing."

"Either way, no one seemed to notice what was happening to Shannon. And if they did, they ignored it. Everyone loved Shannon." she explained. "My parents, this town. It was just easier to blame her shortcomings on me."

"Easier for them, or for you?"

Claire felt a sad smile spread across her face. "Both I guess. So long as I was the bad kid, I got to do whatever the hell I wanted to. I didn't have to grow up. I just got to exist."

Jax got up and grabbed them some beers from the bar; took the tops off.

"Thanks," Claire told him as he handed her the bottle. "Anyways, that all ended when she died."

"She died in the fire, right? In your parent's garage?"

Claire took a swig from the beer bottle and shook her head before swallowing. "That's what everyone thinks."

"What happened then?"

"Overdose." She averted Jax's gaze and instead focused on a worn in stain on the table. She traced it with her finger. "I was the one that found her body. I came home from school one day and found her passed out on the floor of the garage by her car. Needle still in her arm."

"Jesus."

Claire could feel the tears welling up in her eyes and her voice cracked a little when she spoke. "I just, I didn't know what to do. I kept thinking that, I knew. I _knew _what had been going on with her, and I did nothing to help her."

Jax studied his bottle. "You can't blame yourself for that. You were just a kid." He looked at her. "She was the one that decided to shoot that crank into her veins."

She nodded. "I know that now. But in that moment? I didn't want people to know. I didn't want them to know what my perfect sister had turned into."

"So you started the fire."

She nodded. "I knew in that moment that I was walking down the same path that Shannon had been on. So I torched the place, told the cops I didn't know she had been in there, and pled guilty to the arson and manslaughter charges. Went to prison, and got my life together."

Jax raised an eyebrow. "Ten years on the inside? That's one way of shipping yourself off to rehab."

Claire shrugged. "It worked."

Jax took another swig of beer. "One thing I don't understand is that this doesn't seem like a lot of dirt. I mean, for Darby to use against you for cash."

"He's under the impression that I care more about my family's reputation than I actually do. That I'm like my parents and would do anything to keep our name out of the dirt." She shrugged. "I mean, I cared when I was arrested. That's why I did what I did. But after I got straight? Not so much."

"Why not tell everyone the truth then? Get your sentence reduced."

"When I came home that day, and found Shannon's body? I saw a couple of Darby's guys driving down the street away from our house. It could have been foul play. If I told the cops the truth about what happened, they'd start pressing me for information. They'd reopen god knows how many investigation. I know too much about Darby and his organization. If he thought I was going to talk? I'd be dead."

The two of them trailed off into silence as they thought about the entirety of Claire's tale. Claire was dwelling on memories while Jax was trying to figure out how he could use this information to move foreword.

"Do you know if there are any guys in Darby's crew that would go after underage pussy?"

Claire shrugged. "How underage?"

"Thirteen."

"Christ. Um, yeah. There were a couple. But that was ten years ago," she shrugged, "I don't know if they're still with him or what."

"If we got a name would you be able to give us a description. Maybe an address or something?"

Claire nodded. "Yeah, I could probably come up with something."

"Alright. I'm going to need to you wait here for a little while. Best if the police don't see you coming and going a lot." Jax stood up and pointed at the TV over the bar. "You can watch that if you want."

Claire shook her head. "I'm fine. I brought a book actually."

"Alright. I'll be back in a few."

Claire was only alone in the room for a few minutes before Tig came in through the front door. He hurried past the bar and disappeared down a hallway in the back. It wasn't until he came back carrying a small baggie that he noticed her.

* * *

><p>Tig stopped short when he noticed her sitting by the bar. "What the fuck are you doing here?" he spat out.<p>

"Jax told me to wait here," she shrugged before returning to her book.

"_Jax_? What the fuck are you doing with him?"

She looked right at him. "It's private."

It made sense, he guessed. She would go for a pretty boy like Jax. "You know he just had a kid right?"

She shook her head. "No. I didn't." She thought about it for a moment. "Not really sure what that has to do with anything though." she seemed a little bit confused.

He shrugged, "Nothing, I guess." She was still starring at him. "Whatever. I don't have time for this. I have to go sedate these cops." And he walked out the door. Jax and Clay were standing together outside the garage office.

"You're hitting the baker?" he asked Jax.

Jax looked at him with a weird expression. "The fuck are you talking about man?"

"Claire?" He pointed towards the clubhouse. "Little redhead says she's waiting for you? Does any of this ring a bell?"

Jax was laughing at him, and Clay just looked confused.

"She's got info on Darby, you asshole. She might be able to help us find the rapist."

"So, you're not going to fuck her?"

"No, idiot. She's a nice girl, alright? That's the farthest thing from my mind right now."

"She's not a nice girl, but whatever," Tig shrugged.

"Why do you care so much?"

"I don't."

Jax just shook his head and they all looked over at the two cops leaning up against the hood of their car. "I can't believe these assholes are taking another coffee break."

"Total jerk off," Clay agreed. "Hale must know we're looking for this guy. We're going to be here all day."

Tig grinned. "Two double tranqochinos coming up."

* * *

><p>Vitamins? Yeah, right, Juice thought as he walked into the clubhouse examining the bagg that Tig had handed him. Juice couldn't really imagine Tig taking vitamins. Ever. Tig taking vitamins... that would be like... well, that would be like Gemma giving out free hugs. Or something else that was highly unlikely. It was probably speed or something.<p>

He walked into the clubhouse with every intention of putting them in Tig's box, like he had asked, without taking any more out, but then he saw her. She was pretty. Pretty in a way that was different from most crow eaters. She was a red head for starters, not a lot of those around here. She dressed simply, in worn jeans and a purple t shirt that was just tight enough to show off her tits. Her tits were really nice. Not too big, not too small. And her face...had caught him staring. "Hi" he blurted out.

She looked at him like he was a stray dog and she was trying to figure out if he bit or not. "Hi." She finally said. Slowly, like she was talking with a child

"You're really pretty." Was all he managed to say.

Thankfully, she laughed. "Thanks," she told him before returning to her book. He tipped his head to the side so that he could read the cover. _The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo_. He hadn't heard of it, but he sat down anyway.

"I have some tattoos, you know."

She looked over the top of her book, and glanced at his arms and the sides of his head. "Good for you."

He was never going to get laid at this point. Suddenly he remembered the pills. He held the bag out to her. "Vitamin?" he offered.

She looked at him for a split second and then laughed. Juice thought she laughed a little bit like Julia Roberts. Oddly, he was ok with this.

"I'm not stupid," she told him," and I know that those aren't vitamins."

He looked at them. "Yeah, they're not." She was ignoring him, reading her book. She seemed really nice, and he felt bad for flirting with her so badly. Making sure she wasn't looking, he slipped one of the pills in her bottle of beer. He thought that she deserved a little fun. "Right, well, I'll see you around then. She just took a swig of the beer and nodded.

Juice stood up and started walking towards the other room where he was supposed to load up the A-K's. Then, everything went black.

* * *

><p>Tig looked at the pills in the floor. Then he looked at Juice. "What an idiot," he lamented.<p>

"Probably thought it was speed." Bobby theorized.

"What about the girl?" Clay asked.

Tig got up and walked over to where Claire was passed our on the floor, next to an overturned chair. Her head was resting in a puddle of spilt beer. She exhaled through her nose and blew little bubbles in the spill. He hated to admit it, but it was kind of cute. He dipped a finger in the puddle and tasted it.

"The asshole put it in her beer."

"Christ," Clay shook his head, "I want something very special." He told them, staring at Juice's prone form. Then he looked over at Claire, "And get your girlfriend off the floor."

"She's not my girlfriend," Tig protested as he grabbed Claire by the ankles and dragged her across the floor, over to a sofa. It only took a minute to hoist her up onto the cushions. Then he walked away.

* * *

><p>Claire woke up, suddenly, when she couldn't breathe. Something was on her back pressing all of the air out of her lungs.<p>

She managed to wheeze out a "What the fuck?" and the weight was lifted. Had someone sat on her?

"Shit, I forgot you were still here."

Claire rolled over onto her back, and found Tig staring down at her. He was swaying a bit.

"Scoot over," he told her, "I need to sit down."

Claire sat up and her head swam. "What the fuck?" she moaned, and promptly put her head between her knees."

"Yeah, that's probably the roofies" he admitted as he sunk into the cusions.

"_Roofies_?" Claire sat straight up again and fought the urge to vomit. All of her clothes were still on, thank god. Then she remembered everything that had happened before she'd passed out. "That little shithead slipped me a roofie?"

Tig looked at her, and took a swig from a bottle of beer. "If it makes you feel any better, he thought they were caffeine pills or something."

She looked at him. "It doesn't." Her mouth was dry, so she grabbed his beer bottle and took a quick slug. "I'm going to fail my drug test now," she explained handing the bottle back to him. "I'll loose my parole, and then I'll have to go back to jail, and I'll loose everything."

Tig leaned back against the sofa. "It's not going to stay in your system that long, you'll be fine."

"Whatever," she muttered. "Has Jax come back yet? I was waiting for him."

"Yeah. We all got back a few hours ago."

"Alright, I need to go find him."

Tig reached out and grabbed her wrist before she could stand up. "Don't worry about it. We found who we were looking for."

She looked at him. He seemed tired and a bit worn down. "Are you ok?" she asked him without knowing why.

He saw the concern on her face, "I'm fine." He told her. "I'm always fine."

She nodded and looked down at her arm. He was still holding onto her wrist with a firm grip. She could feel the calluses on his palm. It was kind of nice. He followed her gaze and abruptly let go of her.

"What time is it?" she asked.

Tig looked up at the clock on the wall, "Two thirty in the morning."

"Are you shitting me?" she rubbed her eyes. "I have to be at work in four hours."

She stood up and looked for her things. They were still over where she'd been sitting reading. She walked over and picked up her book. Great. It was soaked in beer. She'd have to pay the library to replace it.

"Word of advice?"

She looked back at Tig. "What?"

"When you get home, don't go to sleep or you won't be awake in four hours."

"Thanks," she said stuffing everything into her shoulder bag, "I think."

"In fact, as long as we're both awake..."

She walked closer to the sofa to get a better look at him. "You're shitting me, right?"

He was looking at her with weird heat in his eyes. Something she hadn't seen for a long time. "No."

She looked at him, watched him take another drink of beer. "On a scale of one to ten, how drunk are you?"

He thought about it for a moment. "Solid six," he answered. "What does that have to do with it?"

"Well," she said, "If you were sober, you'd remember that you don't seem to like me very much."

"Sweetheart," he insisted, "'like' has nothing to do with it. I don't like half of the women I fuck. Fact is, you're not hideous and more importantly you're right here."

Claire couldn't believe it. She gave laughed at him incredulously. "See, that's the other thing you'd remember if you were sober. I'm not one of your whores. I gave that shit up years ago."

"Before you went to prison?"

She nodded.

He was silent for a moment, staring at his beer bottle, thinking about something. "You know, one thing I've always wondered, do girls in prison screw around with each other like guys do?"

Claire rolled her eyes. "I'm out of here," she told him and walked towards the door.

"You didn't answer the question!" he yelled after her.

Without looking back, she gave him the finger over her shoulder and let the door slam behind her.

"That's a yes," he remarked to no one in particular.


	4. Patch Over

Claire was recording the temperatures of the fridge and freezer in her kitchen while Abby stared at her incredulously.

"And you told him no?"

She looked over at Abby who was sitting on the counter, eating the good part of a half burnt croissant. "Exactly."

Abby was glaring at her like she had just grown an extra head. "Why would you do a stupid thing like that?"

"Because," she explained, hanging her clipboard on the wall, "I have enough on my plate as it is. The last thing I need is to get involved with some outlaw biker."

Abby shook her head. "Tig doesn't get involved," she muffled through a mouth full of pastry. She swallowed and continued, "He's exactly what you need right now."

"And that is?"

"Sex." Abby stated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I mean, the last time you got laid, Bill Clinton was president."

Claire pointed to the front of the shop. "We are open you know. I'm not paying you to sit in here and gossip."

Abby waved her off, "Oh come on. We're dead today. I'll go out there if I hear the door open." She tossed the remainder of the croissant into the trash and leaned over to wash her hands in the sink. "Anyway," she continued, "if there ever was a more perfect time to saddle up and get back on the horse; it was last night, and you blew it."

Claire rolled her eyes and opened the oven to pull out a tray of biscuits. "Sex is not a necessity to me Abby. I don't need to saddle up anything."

"I just don't get what your hold up is. You keep talking about how you want to get on with your life and move forward, but I don't see you doing very much living."

"I have a life," Claire objected.

"No. No you don't." Abby countered. "You get up, go to work, and then go home again. And you live and work in the _same building_."

Abby wanted to continue with her diatribe, but a bell rang out in the front of signaling that someone had opened the shop door.

"This isn't over young lady," Abby insisted before disappearing through the swinging door.

_Saved by the bell_, Claire thought. She only had a few moments to herself though, before Abby yelled for her from the register.

She grabbed her biscuits and brought them to the front of the store with her. Abby was standing at the register and chatting with a middle aged woman with some killer highlights.

"Claire Stanton, Gemma Morrow."

Claire set the tray down on the counter and shook the woman's hand. "Pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," the woman replied, giving her the once over. "I'm here on business," Gemma explained.

"Oh?" Claire crossed her arms, a little puzzled. "How can I help you?"

"I'm helping out with a fundraiser for the school system," she stated, slipping off her sunglasses. "We've got games for the kids and raffle tickets, that sort of thing. A lot of the local businesses are participating. One of our sponsors backed out, and we've got an open booth. I was wondering if you might be interested in filling it."

Claire could feel Abby's eyes drilling into her.

"When is it?" she asked.

"It's this Friday, at the high school."

Claire's eyebrows shot up.

"I realize that this is really short notice, but if you could help me out, you'd be doing me a solid favor."

Claire shrugged. "What did you have in mind?"

"I don't know," Gemma thought out loud, "maybe you could sell some doughnuts or cupcakes or something."

Claire nodded. "I could do that. Sell them at regular price and donate the profits to you guys." She thought about her schedule. She'd still need to open the bakery for the day to avoid lost revenue. "I wouldn't be able to get over there until after three though."

Gemma smiled. "That would be perfect." She reached out and gave Claire's face a little squeeze. "Thank you so much. You give me a call if you need anything."

"Anything going on at the club tonight?" Abby asked her.

"Nothing for a while sweetheart," she answered, putting on her shades, "The boys are off to Nevada for a bit."

"Nevada?" Abby returned, sounding very surprised.

"I know. I'm pissed about it too. See you girls on Friday."

* * *

><p>Abby was right, Claire thought as she climbed the steps to her apartment later that afternoon. She needed to get out more and start building her life. This fundraiser was a good chance to do that; to get out and actually meet the people of Charming, prove to them that she wasn't the murderer that they all thought she was.<p>

She shut the door behind her and tossed her mail on the kitchen table. Most of it was bills and junk, but there was an envelope addressed to her in a handwriting she didn't recognize. She ripped it open and a handful of old photos tumbled out.

She turned on the light and picked them up to get a better look. When she saw what they were, she felt bile rise in her throat. They were all of Shannon, in compromising positions with some of Darby's men. Claire quickly flipped through them pausing on the last one. Shannon was on top, and Claire could see a swastika tattooed on her right shoulder blade.

She dropped the photos on the kitchen floor and ran for the bathroom. She had to scramble to lift the toilet lid in time before she emptied the contents of her stomach into the bowl.

After she was done heaving, she just sat on the bathroom floor. She had no idea that Shannon had been in with them that deep. To have gotten that ink? Claire sat on the floor for several hours feeling a mixture of anger and disbelief.

Eventually, the phone in the kitchen rang. Claire hoisted herself off of the floor and went to answer it, treading on the pictures on the floor to get there.

"Hello?"

"I trust you got my gift in the mail, Miss Stanton."

At the sound of Darby's voice, Claire used her free hand to brace herself against the wall. "Yeah, I got it."

"I'm going to need five thousand dollars by next week, or copies of the pictures will be sent to your parent's residence."

Claire looked down and scuffed one of the photos with the toe of her shoe. "If this is who Shannon really was, then I don't give a shit about her reputation any more. Go ahead and send the pictures, because you're not getting your money," she stated clearly before hanging up the phone and unplugging the jack from the wall.

She just hoped this wouldn't come back to bite her in the ass.


	5. Giving Back

The front door to the bakery was locked promptly at three on Friday.

"Alright, you head upstairs and change while I start loading all this shit into my trunk."

Claire looked up from the tray of cupcakes she was covering in plastic wrap. "No, I'll help you. I don't need to change."

Abby stared at Claire. The baker was wearing her unofficial uniform of jeans and a t shirt. It's not that they didn't look good on her; they just made her blend in instead of stand out. The chuck Taylors she had on her feet were probably the only distinctive thing she owned. Even then, Chucks weren't very distinctive anymore. And everything was dusted with flour.

"Yeah, I thought this would happen. I can't let you out of here dressed like that."

Claire looked down at herself, confused. "What's wrong with the way I'm dressed?"

Abby grimaced, "Nothing really. It's just not very... classy." Claire frowned. "Its fine, you know, for everyday stuff. But not for public events like this. You want to make a good impression, right?"

Claire nodded. "Well, yeah. But I don't really own anything else though. I mean, this is one of my nicer outfits."

Abby could feel her face contort in an expression of pain. She shook her head. "There's really no excuse for this. I mean, you're been out of prison for two, two and a half months? That's plenty of time to go shopping."

Claire crossed her arms, getting defensive. "Well, I'm sorry for dedicating most of my time on getting a business up and running. You know, becoming a productive member of society and everything."

"Alright, it's all going to be ok. I have a dress in my car that might fit you, c'mon." Claire followed her out the back door where Abby had pulled up her car. She rummaged through the back seat and finally pulled out a light blue number. "Ok. Go upstairs and put this on."

"What about shoes?" Claire asked, looking a little out of her element.

"The sneakers are fine. They'll be cute with the dress." She shoved it into Claire's hands. "Now, go change. We don't have a lot of time."

Claire quickly ran up to her apartment while Abby started loading trays of cupcakes into her trunk. Abby looked up a few moments later when she heard the apartment door slam shut.

The dress Abby had loaned her was a strappy sundress that cut off just above the knee. Thankfully, it complemented her red hair instead of clashing with it. "Damn girl, you look hot and respectable."

Abby noticed something on Claire's bare leg and gave it a closer look. "Holy shit, I didn't know you had any ink." There were black flames climbing up Claire's left leg.

She shrugged and bent her leg back to look at the tattoo. "I got it done when I was sixteen. I usually wear pants to cover it up. I'm not really sure how I feel about it anymore."

"Did it hurt?"

Claire laughed. "I actually have no idea. I was so stoned when I got it done." She looked back at the dress. "This is way too tight around my tits," she told Abby as she tried to adjust the fabric.

"No, no, no. Leave it alone. It's supposed to be like that. For the cleavage," she explained, "Now come on, we're going to be late."

Claire hurried down the stairs and helped Abby load the rest of the cupcakes into the car.

"Thanks again for driving," Claire told her as she climbed into the passenger seat.

"No problem." Abby climbed in behind the wheel and slammed the door. "I wouldn't miss this for the world." She turned the key in the ignition and maneuvered down the alley behind the building onto the street.

* * *

><p>"You're late Elvis!"<p>

Gemma was on the war path. This Taste of Charming fundraiser stressed her out during a normal year, never mind during a time when the club was in the fucked up state that it was. Tig just stood to the side, trying to be invisible as she started in on Bobby.

"Hey, do you have any idea how difficult it is to get this in a helmet?" Bobby countered pointing at his wig.

Gemma was having none of it though. "The kids are waiting."

Bobby scampered away to go and put on his Elvis show, and Gemma rounded on Tig. _Shit_.

"And you, you're on garbage duty."

"Seriously Gemma?"

"Do I look like I'm fucking around?"

"No."

"Exactly. I think Claire from that bakery just got here. Go see if she needs a bin or something." Gemma ordered before stalking over to the chili booth.

He glanced over to the table where Claire and Abby were selling cupcakes. He hadn't seen her since the night he'd sat on her in the club house. He'd begun to think she was a little less crazy than he'd originally thought, but he still didn't trust her. Girl like that? A felon? With ties to Darby and the Mayans? Something wasn't right there.

Claire leaned over the table to hand a plate to a little girl and Tig got an eyeful of her tits. He supposed that he was just going to have to keep an eye on her.

Abby was the first one to notice him walking towards them. "Hey, how was Nevada? I heard that the party was pretty wild."

Claire looked up when her friend spoke. When she saw who it was, a look of annoyance crossed her face.

He shrugged, "I wouldn't really know. I missed it."

Abby laughed. "_You _missed a patch over party?"

"Is that a big deal or something?" Claire asked while she stuffed some cash into an envelope.

Abby sighed and threw an arm around Claire's shoulders. "Oh sweet, innocent Claire," she remarked rubbing the girl's shoulder, "you have so much to learn." She looked back at Tig, "So, what can we do for you?"

"Gemma wanted me to come over and make sure you guys were settling in all right. See if you needed a trash can or something."

Claire looked at him and giggled. "Did she make you her bitch?"

"Did you just giggle?" Abby asked at the same time that Tig got stone faced.

"No. And if you know what's good for you, you won't call me a bitch again."

Claire pointed at him. "You got me drugged. I'll call you whatever the hell I want."

Tig grabbed her hand and yanked. "Get your fucking finger out of my face."

Tig was forced to let go when something solid connected with his shin under the table. "Then get your fucking face away from my business," she yelled back.

Tig stumbled back and looked down to find her sneaker clad foot under the table. "You stupid whore, you kicked me." He was about to charge the cupcake stand when someone grabbed him from behind and restrained him.

"What the hell is going on?" Jax asked while Tig struggled against his grasp.

Abby was the only one who felt like speaking up. "It's these two. They get within ten feet of each other and they're at it like cats and dogs."

After a moment, Tig calmed down and Jax felt safe letting him go.

"Well cut the shit, both of you," he ordered looking back and forth between Tig and Claire. "My mom will throw a fit if someone starts throwing punches."

"She started it," Tig claimed.

Jax rolled his eyes. "I don't give a shit who started it, asshole, just end it now."

"Alright," Tig conceded. "I've got to go take a piss," and he walked away towards the school.

He looked over at Claire, who at least had the sense to look embarrassed. "How long are you going to be here? We need to have a word. Business."

"I'll be here for the rest of the day."

"Alright. I need to go say hi to my mom. I'll come find you later."

* * *

><p>Claire sat, perched on the tail gate of Abby's car for a moment. Shortly after her altercation with Tig, she'd offered to put some of the empty trays in the trunk. She'd needed a walk and the time to clear her head. She didn't know what it was about that man, but he just seemed to push her buttons in all the wrong ways.<p>

People were milling about in the parking lot, coming and going from the fundraiser at will. That was why Claire paid no attention to the sound of footsteps coming toward her. Understandably, she jumped a little when a man spoke her name.

She looked up cautiously to see her father's face staring at her. He'd aged noticeably since the last time she'd seen him at her trial. "Dad."

Just like ten years ago, he didn't seem very pleased to see her. "What are you doing here Claire?"

"Working," she stated simply.

He shook his head. "No. What are you doing in Charming? Why'd you come back?"

Claire shrugged. "I don't know. It seemed as good a place as any to start over."

The silence that descended was awkward, to say the least.

Greg Stanton sighed and looked at the ground. "Some pictures came in the mail yesterday, addressed to your mother. They were, disturbing, to say the least."

Claire nodded. "I know. I'm sorry for that."

"Your mother's been in hysterics since then. She hasn't been this bad since the fire." He paused. "I think it would be best if you left Charming."

Claire looked at him incredulously. "I'm sorry if my being here upsets mom, but I'm not going anywhere. I accepted responsibility for what happened with Shannon, and I've done penance for it. But now? I'm rebuilding my life. I'm not going to pack up and leave because it hurts your feelings."

"That's one thing that hasn't changed, all these years later. You always were inconsiderate when it came to other people."

Claire rubbed her temple in frustration. There was a difference between being considerate and being a doormat. "Why are _you_ here dad?"

"I heard from one of my clients that you were going to be here. Do you have any idea the things that people are saying about you? How much it's hurting everyone?"

"I'm perfectly aware of what people are saying about me dad. They don't try and hide it."

"Then why would you want to stick around?"

Claire stood up and started walking backwards towards the school. "You've said your piece dad. I have to get back to work now."

"If it's about money, I'm sure we could come to some sort of agreement. I'd be more than happy to pay your relocation costs."

Claire shook her head, fighting tears. "You think you can solve this with money?" she asked with disbelief in her voice. "This isn't about money. This is about moving foreword and being able to live my life again. I suggest you do the same."

She turned her back on him and started walking away, but he followed her.

"Claire, listen. I still have some papers that I need you to look at." She ignored him. "_Claire_!"

She was feeling too much. Anger, sadness, and fright were coursing through her to the point that she thought she was going to explode. She was trying to loose her father and didn't notice Tig walking in the other direction until she bumped into him.

"I swear to God," he started, "if you mess with me one more time."

She didn't answer him. Instead, she impulsively grabbed him by the edge of his cut and dragged him through an open doorway and into what turned out to be a gymnasium.

"Get your hands off of me bitch!" he protested before she planted her hands on his chest and pushed him up against the gym wall and kissed him.

* * *

><p><em>What the fuck?<em> Tig thought for a split second. Then he wasn't thinking at all. One arm reached up and grabbed a fistful of her hair, anchoring her lips to his. The other traveled south and palmed her ass, pushing her hips against his. He was hard instantly and he wanted her to feel it.

She didn't back down though. Instead, she deepened the kiss and grabbed at his shirt. He turned and reversed their positions, pressing her up and against the wall. Her arms wrapped themselves around his neck to steady herself, and she hitched one of her legs over his hip and -

"Shit!" He yelled, breaking the kiss. Grabbing her wayward leg, he moved it away from his ass.

"What's wrong?" she asked undeterred, and began sucking at his neck.

"Christ. Nothing. Just, a dog bit me in the ass the other day."

She looked up at him grinning mischievously. "Do you want me to kiss it and make it better?" she asked, nipping at his jaw.

Who the hell was this girl and what had she done with Claire, the girl that just kicked him in the shin?

"Kind of," he answered leaning in for another kiss. His hands were starting to inch up Claire's skirt when he heard someone laughing behind him.

"Christ Tig, you haven't changed much."

Tig looked over his should to see who it was. It was fucking Kyle with his fucking kid. In the confusion, Claire distanced herself from Tig and started smoothing her skirt and fixing her hair.

"You're such an asshole, in so many ways." He looked over at Claire. "You want to go somewhere else? Find an empty classroom or something?"

She was looking at him like he was an idiot. "Sorry, but the mood's kind of ruined. I have to get back to work anyway." She all but sprinted out of the gym.

Tig was about to go after her and figure out what the hell had just happened when his cell rang. "Yeah?" he answered, walking outside for some privacy from Kyle. He passed Opie going in the doorway, looking for Kyle no doubt. Tig was surprised that that hadn't gone down sooner.

It was Clay on the phone. "Grab the rest of the guys and head back here. We gotta take care of this Chinese situation today."

"Alright, I'll be there in a few."

* * *

><p>"Beer?" Abby asked, hopping up on the table next to Claire. She offered Claire one of the two plastic cups she was holding.<p>

"Thanks. Have you seen Jax around?" she asked before taking a sip.

Abby shook her head. "I don't think so. He and the rest of the guys headed out hours ago. They haven't been back since."

"Fuck." Claire took another swig in frustration. "He said he wanted to talk to me about something. I don't know how long I should be waiting here."

Abby shrugged. "Stay for the fireworks at least."

The two descended into a comfortable silence as the band started up and the fireworks started exploding in the sky in vibrant colors.

It'd been a while since Claire had seen fire. When she saw the rockets burst forth overhead, they drew her in like a month to flame. She felt a warmth course through her veins and for the first time in a while, she felt oh so alive. In that moment, nothing else mattered. This part of herself, the wildness, she'd been trying to suppress it for so long. She was so scared of it, because if she let it, it would consume her. She had no idea how to achieve a balance.

Abby and Claire hung around for a bit and tried waiting for Jax. After the fireworks they helped Gemma clean up, but then Claire decided it was time to head out, Jax or no Jax. Abby dropped Claire off at the front of the bakery, and then quickly drove off to whatever post party she was attending.

Claire walked around to the back of the building and was surprised to find Jax sitting on the steps of her apartment.

"Hey," he greeted her. "Sorry I couldn't make it back to the fundraiser. Shit came up."

Claire shrugged. "It's fine."

"You heard anything from Darby lately?"

Claire paused, trying to decide what to tell him, deciding in the end for total disclosure. He'd been right the other day in the clubhouse, the only way her relationship with Samcro was going to work was if she told them everything. She sat down next to him on the steps and told him about the pictures, the phone call from Darby, and the conversation with her father.

"Well," Jax said after thinking for a moment, "Darby's not going to hurt you so long as you're in Charming. He's not stupid enough to go after an innocent."

"That's the thing though," Claire thought out loud, "he doesn't think that I'm an innocent. And to a certain extent, I'm not."

"Well, the only thing that will keep you safer, is if he thinks you're with us. He's not strong enough to come after us directly."

Claire nodded.

"What time do you close up tomorrow?"

"Three-thirty."

"Alright. I'm going to have one of the guys come over tomorrow, have you spend some time with him. In public," he emphasized. "Get people talking, soon enough the rumors will reach Darby."

"It's smart," Claire agreed.

"I try," Jax grinned. He got up and walked over towards his bike. "Just to warn you though," he told her putting on his helmet, "it's probably going to be Tig. He's the only one free tomorrow."

Claire's ran a hand through her hair and blew out some air. "Suddenly this plan seems significantly less intelligent."

Jax laughed. "I know darlin'. Try and take it easy on him though, alright? Samcro needs him in one place." His bike roared to life, and he rode off into the night.

_Fuck_, Claire thought.


	6. AK51

When Tig ambled into Claire's kitchen the next day a little after three thirty, she was still in the middle of frosting a wedding cake.

"Are you ready to go do whatever the hell it is that we're supposed to be doing?" he asked her.

She picked up a bag of icing and started piping red roses onto the bottom tier. "No. I need, like forty five more minutes. Did Abby let you in here?" she asked him, a little peeved that he was in her kitchen again.

"Yeah."

She looked at him. He was just standing there, and she couldn't read his expression while he had his shades on. She was miffed that he didn't seem to be as tense about this arrangement as she was. "I'm sorry, but I was really busy today. I didn't have time to get this done," she rambled on.

"So do it later," he shrugged.

She looked up at him. "I can't. The wedding's tomorrow."

He moved over so that he was standing in front of her with the stainless steel workspace in between them. He took off his shades and crossed his arms. "I could be doing productive things right now."

Claire shrugged before moving onto the middle tier. "So go."

"You know, for someone who supposedly wants our help so bad, you don't seem to be very appreciative."

She glared at him over the cake. "There's a difference between want and need," she explained. "My situation is definitely the latter. How would you feel," she asked, "if your club needed to become dependent on someone else in order to ensure your survival?"

"That's different," he answered. "My club wouldn't be stupid enough to get into a situation like this in the first place."

"Asshole," she grumbled. "How is all of this my fault?"

Tig shrugged. "I don't know, but from what I've learned about you? You have a tendency to be emotional and impulsive. I've got a size six bruise on my shin to prove it."

"There's nothing impulsive or emotional about that bruise," she shot back. "Someone moves in on what's mine, I'll fight back."

"And what went down in the gym yesterday?" he asked her with amusement in his voice. "Was that you protecting your territory?"

At the memory of what had happened yesterday and of how she'd behaved, Claire could feel a faint blush creeping up her neck. When she'd gotten home last night, it wasn't the silence that prevented her from sleeping. Instead, she'd just been horny as fuck. "Yesterday," she started, somewhat at a loss for words, "Yesterday, I just had some excess steam that I needed to blow off."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tig move around to her side of the table. "That's how you relieve stress?" he asked. "Not a bad idea if you think about it."

She was trying her best to ignore him and focus on her flowers, but before she knew it he was standing behind her and had a firm grip on her hips. "How about now? Are you feeling tense at all right now?"

Well, she was now, but she wasn't about to let him know that. "You'd better put those hands somewhere else if you don't want to loose them," she ordered.

Instead of backing off, Tig took a step closer until his front was flush with her back. The hands in questions skimmed their way up her shirt until they were full of her breasts. "Better?" he asked.

"No," she told him, determined not to show a reaction. "Now fuck off. I need to work." She tried to add another flower to the cake, but when his thumb brushed over her nipple, she flinched and ruined it.

"You fucking asshole!" she yelled, throwing down the piping bag. "Look at what you made me do!" She turned in his arms, ready to deck him.

Reading the signals, Tig backed away and put his hands up in defense. "Whoa," he cautioned. "No need to get violent. I was just joking around."

She planted her hands on her hips and stared him down. "Yeah, well that little prank just cost you fifteen more minutes. I need to fix this," she told him gesturing at the cake.

"Well, what am I supposed to do until then?"

Claire groaned and rolled her eyes. She needed him out of her kitchen. She marched over to the back door and grabbed a ring of keys off a hook on the wall. She sorted through them and handed him one. "Take this," she ordered, "and go upstairs. You can hang out in my apartment until I'm ready to go. Don't do anything too stupid, alright?"

He smiled. "Thanks, doll."

Claire had no idea why she'd given him her keys. It was probably one of the stupidest mistakes she'd ever made. He was going to jerk off into her towels, she just knew it.

She worked in silence for the next hour, seething over Tig's intrusion into her routine. By the time she opening her door at four thirty, she was dreading the hellish afternoon that was about to commence.

He was sitting at her kitchen table thumbing through a couple of her library books. "It took you long enough," he scolded her.

"I'm sorry for not wanting to ruin someone's wedding day," she responded, "next time I'll just give them a packet of ring dings and say to hell with it."

"Funny," he deadpanned.

"I thought so," she retorted grabbing her messenger bag from under the bed.

"Is this all you do all day? Read?" he asked her, holding up a James Patterson book.

"No," she countered, "I work all day. I read in my spare time," she told him before grabbing the book out of his hand and shoving it in her bag. "Let's go," she told him, "I need to bring these back to the library."

"Alright." He stood up from the table and stretched. "Where's your car parked?" he asked her.

"I don't have a car," she told him as she gathered up the rest of the books.

"You don't have a car? Why don't you have a car?"

"Because I never learned to drive," as if to say _duh._. "I was locked up at sixteen. Guess I missed out on that particular milestone."

"How do you get around?"

"I walk," she told him standing by the door, "this town's not that big."

"I'm not walking to the library."

"Well, tough tits, because I'm sure as hell not getting on the back of a bike with you."

He shrugged. "That's a moot point, because I wouldn't let you on my bike in a million years."

Claire stared him and felt a headache coming on. "Well, I'm walking to the library. You can come along, or not. Your choice."

And that was how Claire ended up walking to the library, on the sidewalk; with Tig riding his bike in the street next to her. A driver leaned on the horn behind them and sped past Tig in the opposite lane. "You're being an ass," she yelled at him. He just smiled.

When they passed the corner market, Abby was coming out with groceries in her arms. She looked at Claire, glanced at Tig, and started laughing.

"You better shut the fuck up if you intend on having a job come Monday," Claire ordered her.

Abby just shook her head and walked over to her car.

_How long could one woman spend looking for books?_ Tig asked himself. They'd been in the library for a half an hour now, and Claire was just planted on the floor in between the shelves flipping through some books.

He looked down at her. "You do realize that you're ruining my day off?"

"I really don't care," she told him without even looking up.

Tig was about to wander off, when out of nowhere a child came running down the aisle and crashed into Claire, sending her book flying.

"Hey! You're the cupcake lady!" The kid yelled, pointing at Claire.

Claire gave the kid a sweet smile. "Yeah, I guess I am."

"You don't have a soul!" he told her point blank.

Tig laughed. "This kid is my hero."

"Shut up," Claire spat at him. "Who told you that I don't have a soul?" she asked the boy.

"My mommy," the boy answered.

Claire looked a little confused.

"It's probably the ginger thing," Tig told her. She just scowled at him.

The kid was looking around, realizing that his mother was nowhere to be seen.

Claire noticed it too. She started gathering her books together and stood up. "Where is your mom?" she asked the kid.

Tig was a little scared that he was going to have to play babysitter until a well put together woman turned the corner, obviously looking for someone. When she saw the boy she yelled out "Henry!"

At the sound of his name, the boy turned around and ran towards the woman. "Mommy, look! It's the cupcake lady!"

The woman looked up and noticed Claire standing there. She gave the baker a small fake smile. Tig thought that the woman looked like a class A bitch.

"Don't worry," Tig told her. "I don't think she has much of a soul either."

The woman looked thoroughly embarrassed and Claire smacked him upside the head. "Do you have to make everything difficult for me?" she asked him in a hushed tone.

"I see your taste in men hasn't really improved much since high school," she sneered at Claire.

Claire laughed. "Really?" she asked. "You want to go there? In front of your kid?"

The woman seemed to turn a little pale, and ushered her son in the other direction. Whatever Claire had implied, it had been super effective. She'd shut that woman down in a way that was reminiscent of Gemma.

"Thought so," Claire muttered as she turned and started walking towards the circulation desk.

"What was that about?" Tig asked as she checked out her books.

Claire looked over her shoulder to make sue no one was eavesdropping. "Her husband is gay, but she's so scared of what everyone would think that she won't divorce him." She took her books from the librarian and shoved them in her bag.

"How do you know all this?"

She shrugged. "His boyfriend comes in the shop. The guy tells Abby _everything_."

"You don't take shit from many people, do you?" he asked her as they were walking out the door.

"Nope."

He stopped at his bike. "Yeah. I noticed that. That's why I still don't get why you were all worked up yesterday."

She shifted the bag on her shoulder, buying time before she answered. "Yesterday, I ran into my father at that fundraiser. I'm not exactly his favorite person, what with burning my sister's body to a crisp and everything."

He sat down and leaned against the bike. "See, this is why I got out of dodge after high school. This shit is going to haunt you for the rest of your life."

"I know," she nodded, sitting down on a bench close by. "Even if everyone didn't keep telling me that, I knew the moment I got out that people were going to give me all kinds of shit for coming back to Charming."

"So why do it?"

"Because a lot of those feelings are based on lies that everyone was telling about me. I guess that a part of me thought the best 'fuck you' would be to come back here and lead a good life or something."

Tig watched her as she squinted in the afternoon sunlight and ran a tired hand through her hair."

"Take it from me, hon. People are going to think whatever they want about you, no matter what you do. The best 'fuck you' is to do whatever the he'll you want to and forget about the people talking shit."

Tig glanced at the library door when he heard it open, it was that bitch coming out with her son. He glanced at Claire. She noticed her too, and had an impish smile on her face.

Making sure that the woman was watching, she got off of her bench and moved over towards Tig. Her body language was telegraphing her every move, and Tig saw the kiss coming from a mile away. It was a quick one, just for show. When Claire pulled away, Tig glanced at the woman who'd stopped dead in her tracks outside the doors. Message received.

"So, you want to go get a beer?" Tig asked her, half expecting to be shot down.

Claire shrugged. "Sure. Why the he'll not."

"Alright," he moved to straddle the bike. "Meet me back at the clubhouse." He told her, putting on his helmet. "I still don't trust you though." He kicked the bike to life and roared off.

When Claire walked into the clubhouse after the walk, she was surprised to find the place in shambles. Cautiously she walked over to the bar and dumped her bag on it. She noticed Tig over in a corner, beer bottle in one hand, examining a torn couch cushion. "What the he'll happened?" she asked him.

He put the cushion, torn side down, back on the couch. "Federal agents paid us a little visit today, from what I hear. Trashed the place."

"Damn."

He walked over to the bar and grabbed her a bottle. "Here."

She took it and twisted the top off. "Thanks." She glanced at his eyes, and knew that the only reason he was being so nice to her was because he thought she might screw him.

"Do me a favor?" he asked.

She took a swig and nodded.

"Help put the kitchen back together?" he gestured towards it with his beer. "Some of the other girls are already in there; they'll show you where things go."

Claire took her beer with her and slipped into the kitchen. She was a little surprised to find Abby already in there, along with some girl sporting what looked like a broken nose.

Abby was trying to put everything back in the refrigerator. She looked up when Claire walked in. "Thank god," she breathed. "Tig said you were coming. You can cook, right?"

Claire frowned. "Um, I can bake. Cooking is a little bit different."

Abby shrugged. "Whatever. We've been trying to make some soup for the guys for when they get back from wherever, but it's not working out so well."

Claire walked over to the stove where a large pot was simmering. Tentatively, she lifted the lid of the pot and saw something black and congealed at the bottom. A burning smell was turning her stomach. "What the hell is this supposed to be?" she asked them, letting the lid drop..

"Chicken noodle soup?" Abby answered.

"Are you asking me or telling me?"

Abby cocked a hip and threw her hands in the air. "I don't know. Bobby usually does most of the serious cooking."

"He's the only one that cooks?"

"Well, the rest of the guys know how to open a can. We usually fill in the gaps. Can you fix it?" she asked peeking into the pot.

"No." Claire said, taking a long pull from her beer. "And if you want to save this pot, you need to clean it out pronto."

The girl with the broken nose got up from where she was brushing broken glass into a trash bag. "I got that, you guys. I'll hose it off outside." She turned off the stove and carted the pot out of the room.

"What happened to her face?" Claire asked as soon as she was out of the room.

"Gemma happened," Abby told her, picking up the broom and taking care of the glass.

Claire looked around the busted up kitchen. Tig had been right outside of the library. She needed to stop worrying about what the people in Charming thought of her. Nothing she ever did was going to change their opinion of her. She knew though, that she needed some semblance of order in her life. She couldn't be like Abby, mindlessly cleaning up when the cops went after her friends. She'd lived like that before the fire, and she didn't want to do it again. She finished off her beer and dumped the empty bottle in the trash.

"Well, I've got to get going."

Abby looked at her, "What about the soup?"

Claire shrugged. "Order a pizza or something."

"Thanks for nothing!" Abby yelled after her.

Claire walked back into the other room and grabbed her bag off of the bar. She needed to figure out what she wanted. She didn't think this was it.

She was halfway out the door when Tig came out from one of the back rooms. "You leaving?" he asked her.

She turned around and leaned up against the wall. Looking at him, she was suddenly reminded of how why she'd had trouble sleeping last night. She decided that what she really wanted was sex.

"No," she smiled at him. "In fact, do you have a minute?"

He looked around at all the rumble he probably was supposed to be cleaning up. "Yeah. It is my day off, after all." He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her toward the dorm rooms.

He walked down the long hallway for a moment, before pulling her into one of the rooms and slamming the door shut behind them.


	7. Old Bones

As soon as the door shut behind her, Claire found herself plastered up against a wall by Tig. She reached up and buried her hands in his hair, holding on as he kissed her hard and thoroughly.

One of his hands dove south and darted under her t shirt. Claire gasped when she felt the cold metal of his rings on her stomach, and Tig used the opportunity to take control of the kiss, plunging his tongue deep into her mouth.

As his hand started moving north, Claire reached down and grabbed the hem of her shirt, pulling it up and over her head. Tig's head instantly migrated from her lips to the valley between her breasts. In the interim, Claire tried to get his shirt off, but her mind wasn't sharp enough to deal with his cut and the button down he wore under it.

She lost her train of thought when he started suckling her nipple through the fabric of her bra. Her eyes rolled back as she allowed her mind focus on that delicious pull. She braced her upper body on the wall, and reached behind herself to undo the clasp of her bra.

Without the fabric in the way, the sensation was even stronger. His mouth was insanely hot on her bare skin. She needed more though. She dragged his mouth back up to hers and again tried to manage the buttons on his shirt. He wouldn't cooperate though. His hands skimmed up her front, giving her breasts a quick fondle, and then journeyed down her back, dipping under the waistband of her jeans and her panties.

She finally managed to shove his cut off his shoulders. It landed with a soft _thump _on the floor. She even managed to get a few of the buttons undone before he started kissing her again and groping her breast with one of his free hands. She needed more though.

She shored at his shoulders, managing to get him off her. "Take off your clothes!" She demanded in an exasperated tone.

He backed up a few more steps and undid the remaining buttons on his shirt. "Yes ma'am."

While he undid his belt buckle she sat on the edge of the bed and yanked off her sneakers.

"You order me around like that; it gets me all hot and bothered. Reminds me of the lady sergeants they had in the Marines."

Claire just rolled her eyes and reached down to unsnap her jeans. She managed to get them down around her ankles when Tig pushed her back against the bed. She barely had a moment to register the movement when he reached down and moved aside her panties. Then, in one swift movement he was inside of her.

"Jesus fucking Christ."

"Oh, god," Claire moaned. "You're too big."

"There's no such thing as too big," Tig grunted. "You're too goddamned tight." He propped himself up on one elbow. "When was the last time you got fucked?"

Claire took a few deep breaths. "Ten years ago?" She responded in something that was half a statement and half a question. She moved her hips against his. Now that she'd had a moment to adjust to his size, laying still wasn't cutting it.

"Ten years?" he exclaimed, moving along with her.

"I was in prison!" she yelled at him.

"Still,-" he started before she dragged his mouth to hers in order to shut him up. For once, it worked.

Claire moved along with him, meeting him thrust for thrust. They set a rhythm that grew faster and faster. Claire could feel some sort of incredible pressure building inside of her, until finally it washed over her. Her entire body felt too heavy to move; she was more than glad to fall back and let the mattress absorb her entire weight. A few seconds later, Tig followed.

Gradually, Claire felt herself come back to earth. For the first time, she started looking around the room. Most of it was still in shambles from the raid. Claire suspected that the rest of it was permanently in shambles. Then she looked at the man collapsed on top of her. He wasn't too shabby. In fact, when he wasn't bugging the shit out of her, he was pretty well built. He had nice shoulders, good back, and his ass-

"Oh my God!" she nearly shrieked. There was a gaping wound on his ass. It must have been the dog bite he complained about yesterday.

"What?" he asked sleepily.

"Your ass is bleeding." she told him point blank, in a disgusted tone of voice.

"Oh yeah. It does that."

Suddenly Claire felt dirty. Very dirty. She shoved at Tig until he rolled over and reached for his pants.

Claire's were still around her ankles. "All the time?" she asked him, adjusting everything and pulling them up.

"Well, no" he admitted, watching her.

"Out of sheer curiosity, something I feel I'm going to regret," she started as she got up and reached for bra and shirt, "How long ago were you bit?"

"A couple weeks."

"Yeah, I thought so. You should probably get it looked at by someone. it's probably infected," she told him after putting on her shirt.

"You think so?"

"Most definitely. Things were... seeping." She grabbed her shoulder bag and opened the door. "I'll see you around, I guess."

Tig nodded. "It's unavoidable."

She shut the door behind her and practically ran out of the club house.

* * *

><p>"I don't get why you're so upset," Claire rambled Monday morning. "You're the one that told me to get involved with the sons. You're the one that told me I needed to get laid."<p>

"Yeah," Abby countered, "but there's a certain way you need to go about things. The girls that spend time over there? The club helps them because they help the club."

Claire went back to kneading bread dough. "So, what? You want me to cook and clean up over there like some sort of maid? You want me to be one of their bitches?"

Abby scoffed, "No, but it wouldn't hurt to help out sometimes when they need it. Like after the fucking ATF tears apart the place."

"This isn't what I wanted," Claire told her, shaking her head. "I don't want that kind of life."

"Well, I hate to break it to you, but you've got it. Or did you forget asking Jax for his help with Darby?"

"So, what? All of a sudden I'm supposed to whore myself around? I'm not like you Abby or any of the other girls that hang around there."

There was a sizable pause before Abby spoke up in a quiet voice. "You know, if you took a few minutes to get to know them, you'd realize that half of them aren't like that either."

Claire looked up at Abby; took in her friend's hurt expression. She sighed. "I'm sorry. It's been a weird couple of weeks."

Abby nodded, "I know." She fiddled with her nails for a moment. "There are other ways to help out you know, if you insist on not turning into a prostitute," she grinned.

"What?" Claire asked with curiosity.

"Those day old bagels you always throw out," she nodded towards a couple brown paper sacks near the back door, "I bet they'd be much appreciated by a bunch of guys that can't cook."

Claire considered it for a moment. Abby was right. She did owe them, and it was the least she could do. "Alright," she nodded. "We can bring them over during lunch."

"Good." Abby stated. "It's a good start."

Claire raised an eyebrow.

"It's a gesture of goodwill, of friendship." She slid down off the counter and tousled her hair a bit. "Plus it will set you right with some of the girls. They think it's a bit unfair that you got to walk in off the street and fuck Tig like that."

"Do they?" Claire laughed.

"Yeah," Abby answered. she paused for a moment then smiled. "He's a great lay, right?"

Claire was still laughing when she rolled her eyes. "It'd been ten years," she answered. "Anyone would have been a great lay."

* * *

><p>When Claire and Abby headed over towards the club house on their lunch break, they didn't have to go far to find any sons. A small crowd of them were out back near makeshift boxing ring. Two of the guys were in the ring sparring. When Abby got close enough to see who it was, she mumbled, "Oh, this is a bright idea."<p>

Tig and Bobby were the only two guys that Claire really recognized. Tig was sitting on top of a wooden picnic table, and Bobby was standing next to him.

"Hey boys," Abby called out.

Tig looked back when he heard Abby's voice and remained expressionless when he noticed that Claire was with her. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

Claire hoisted up her bag of and dropped it unceremoniously onto the table. "I brought bagels," she explained.

Tig peeked into the bag, "Did you bring cream cheese?"

"No."

"Why not?" He complained.

Claire stared at him. "Because I brought bagels, not cream cheese."

"They suck without the cream cheese," he continued.

Claire felt her temper flare and snatched the bag out of his hands. "Well, asshole, If you don't want them," she declared haughtily, "then you don't have to take them."

"For Christ's sake Tig, just take the bagels." Bobby reprimanded him.

Abby took the bag from Claire and gave her a look that was meant to be scolding. "I'll just bring these inside," she explained before walking into the clubhouse.

"How you doing?" Bobby asked Claire. "Had any trouble?"

Claire shook her head. "No. It's been pretty quiet lately."

Bobby nodded. "That's good. You let us know if anything comes up."

Claire gave a small smile in response and snuck a glance at Tig. He had returned to stoically watching the boxing match. She had no idea what was going on between the two of them. One minute they were at each others throats, the next... they were at each others throats. She needed to keep those feelings separate . Separate from her job, separate from her relationship with the club. Emotions like that could tear her life apart.

"What's all this about?" Claire asked about the two guys in the ring, breaking the silence.

"Training the prospect." Bobby explained. "He's got a big fight coming up."

"We need to find him someone better to practice on." Tig remarked.

"Yeah." Bobby agreed. "One of the hang around girls could fight better than Lowell."

Claire caught Tig looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

"No," she told him simply.

"Why not?" he asked her. "You'd be fine. A little scrappy, but fine."

Claire rolled her eyes. "I have to go back to work in a twenty minutes. Fist fighting isn't a very dignified thing for a local business owner to do on her lunch break."

"You weren't that worried about dignity the other night." Tig countered.

"Uh-oh" Bobby muttered under his breath.

Claire crossed her arms and took a step closer to Tig, trying her hardest to keep her temper in check. "I'm trying really hard here, to avoid letting whatever it is that's going on between us adversely impact my life. You saying things like that? Not helping."

Tig stared back at her. "Are you listening to yourself? 'Whatever's going on between us'? It was a quick fuck. You're more deluded than I thought if you think we have some sort of relationship."

Bobby was focused on the match. "Hands up Lowell!" he yelled at the ring.

Claire scoffed. "I never said anything like that. Don't go putting words in my mouth, asshole." She saw him open his mouth to say something, but she cut him off. "And don't say anything about other things going in my mouth either."

He only grinned in response.

"I just want all of the fighting and screwing around to stop, alright? I don't want any extra drama in my life. That's why I let the other night happen. Because I thought that I could get some without having to deal with it the next day. Because I thought this would be simple."

Tig shrugged. "I'm willing to leave it all in the past, but don't expect me to act like noting ever happened. That's not my style."

Claire rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Just keep the bullshit to a minimum, alright?"

"Alright."

With what seemed like a truce, the incident seemed to blow over. Tig returned his attention to the ring.

Claire nodded. She needed to get out of here. "Ok. I need to go and run a few errands. Tell Abby that I'll see her back at the shop." Claire started walking away, leaving things on a high note.

The hope that she could do so was ruined, however, before she'd taken five steps away from the garage. "So is that a no on a repeat performance then?"

"Fuck you!" Claire tossed over her shoulder.

She nearly ran over Clay Morrow, the owner of the garage, in her haste to retreat. She could only briefly hear the ensuing conversation behind them.

"Things alright with the little misses?" Tig asked.

"My balls are still attached. What about yours?"

* * *

><p>Jax was sitting in the club house later that evening. Thinking about his family, his son, and his club. There were a lot of thoughts pressing his mind. Heavy thoughts. It was a welcome distraction when Bobby came trudging in with Cherry in tow.<p>

"What the fuck is she doing here?" he asked. "She's not supposed to be anywhere near Half-Sack."

Bobby shrugged. "I know that brother. But her staying at my place? It isn't going to work out, if you know what I mean."

Jax chuckled a little. He knew that the idea had been a little stupid to begin with.

"You need to find somewhere else for her," Bobby demanded.

"Like who? You pass her off to another one of the guys and Sack's going to go mental when he finds out."

"Well, someone better get creative and think of a solution, because the status quo isn't going to hold up."

"Hello?" Cherry started, waving her hands. "I'm right here. Don't talk about me like I'm not in the room."

"When you stop causing all kinds of trouble, then you'll become worthy of a direct response." Bobby shot back, only half-kidding.

Jax thought about it for a moment, scratching at an itch behind his ear. "Alright," he stated finally. "I've got an idea."

* * *

><p>"This place is really empty." Cherry commented.<p>

Claire looked back at her from where she was cooking dinner at the stove. "Well, I haven't been here that long."

Cherry gave the apartment another once over. The only place to sit was either on the small twin bed or where Cherry was situated at the kitchen table. Furnishings were sparse. There were no paintings or anything that made the loft personal.

"You don't even have a couch," she continued, picking at a corner of the Formica table with her nails.

"Well, now I'm getting one."

"Yeah, because if you didn't I wouldn't have anywhere to sleep."

The seemingly demure redhead busied herself grabbing some bowls from a cabinet. "Well, I'm sorry the place doesn't quite match up to your specifications."

She was pissed. Cherry knew that Claire didn't really want her here. When Jax had shown up at her doorstep a half an hour ago it had taken a fair bit of persuasion and the promise of a hand me down sofa before Claire had agreed to let Cherry spend the night.

Cherry watched as Claire poured some soup into the bowls and brought them over to the table. She'd heard quite a bit about the baker from Abby and the other girls over at the club.

"Were you really in prison?" Cherry asked as she grabbed her spoon.

Claire gave her a look that said she thought Cherry was being a little nervy. She just nodded and focused on her soup.

Cherry refused to avert her gaze and continued. "That's what everyone's been saying. But, I've known girls who've done time, and you don't act like them."

Claire set down her spoon a tad angrily and returned Cherry's stare dead on. "I used to be one of the girls you're talking about." She took a drink of her tea. "I used to be just like you."

Cherry's spine pricked a little bit. "What do you mean?" She could feel this conversation treading on dangerous, potentially insulting ground.

"I used to hang out with people that were bigger and stronger than me. Rely on them to take care of me," she stirred her soup a little bit. "In the end, they didn't."

"They must not have been very good friends." Cherry reflected.

"No." Claire agreed.

"I know what you're thinking," Cherry confronted her. "I know what you think of me, but you're wrong."

Claire looked at her, really looked at her.

"I'm not some stupid whore, not anymore. And I don't sleep around like the rest of the girls over there. That's why I'm left Nevada and came here to start over. I'm better than what you think of me."

Claire had a funny expression on her face. After a moment she nodded. "I get that" Claire told her. "And I'm sorry for thinking otherwise. I know what that feels like. To have people think the worst of you."

Cherry smiled a little. "It's alright." She was trying to think of something else to say when there was a knock at the apartment door. Her smile widened. "There's my man now."

Claire opened the door to a skinny little kid with a mop of strawberry blond hair. He was one of the guys that had been in the boxing ring earlier. He was grinning like a fool. "Hi," he greeted her, "you must be Claire. I've heard all about you from the guys."

Claire raised an eyebrow. The few times she'd been in contact with the sons, they hadn't been her finest moments.

"All good things," he quickly reassured her when he saw her expression. "I mean, I'm not sure whether to be scared of you or in awe." He thought about his words for a moment and then blurted out "please don't hurt me." There was another pause. "I mean, I wouldn't fight back or anything, because you're a girl, but still..."

Luckily his babbling was interrupted by a voice from down in the alley. "Oi! You idiot. Quit your yapping and come help me with this." At the sound of the summons, he disappeared down the apartment stairs.

A few moments later, he reappeared and hefted an old worn in sofa in through the door. With the assistance of an older man, they set it up against the open wall, under the window.

The boy, who Cherry called Half -Sack disappeared outside for a moment. Cherry moved to follow him, but the other man stopped her from doing so. "Sorry love, you know the rules."

Cherry tapped her foot impatiently on the ground. "C'mon Chibs. This isn't fair and you know it. No sex before a fight is just superstition."

"Yeah," he nodded, "and I'm a very superstitious man, so you won't be seeing much of him until after tomorrow night."

"This is bullshit." Cherry spat out as her boyfriend reappeared in the doorway, holding some sort of wooden statue. He handed it over to Claire.

"Housewarming gift." He explained.

Claire looked at it. It was a wooden carving of a native America. Like the kind you would find in a cigar shop. It was only about a foot tall, but fairly heavy. Really dense. It was also ugly as fuck.

"Um, thanks" she responded, not knowing what else to say.

"No problem he explained." He was grinning like a fool. Not at her though. He was smiling at Cherry. Smiling because of her.

"You doing alright?" he asked her.

Cherry was smiling right back at him. "Yeah, I'm fine." She glanced at Claire, "this place isn't too bad."

The kid leaned in to give her a peck on the cheek, but the man Cherry called Chibs grabbed him by the back of his shirt and pushed him outside. "Save it for tomorrow kiddies." He glanced at Claire, "Thanks again for this, we won't forget it."

Claire shrugged. "Thanks for the sofa."

Chibs gave off a snort, "You won't be thanking me too much once you get a smell of it." He shut the door behind him before she could ask anything else.

Claire walked over to the sofa and sniffed a little. "Ugh," she blurted out. It was rank. "Go get me the Lysol from the bathroom," she requested of Cherry. "This thing needs to be fumigated."

She set the Indian on the floor next to her bed and got to work.

* * *

><p>"He's going to win this, I know it." Cherry told Abby with excitement.<p>

Claire glanced at Cherry and then turned back to the ring as a couple men helped down the looser of the previous match. She wasn't sure how Abby had managed to talk her into attending the fights. She'd rattled on about camaraderie and making friends with the club and getting out more when she'd come to pick Cherry up. Then, before Claire knew it she'd wasted away most of the afternoon, sitting on some bleachers in a darkened warehouse.

"Of course he's going to win," Abby returned. "He's a champ."

Claire had to agree. In Half-Sack's previous fights, he'd shown great form and serious tenacity. She took a swig of beer and glanced around at the betting action taking place in the crowd, feeling an impulse.

"Are you placing a bet this time around?"

Abby shook her head. "Fuck no. I ran out of cash three fights ago."

Claire reached into the back pocket of her jeans and pulled out a fifty dollar bill. She'd taken it out of the cash register when she closed up earlier. According to her math, it was the first bit of real profit she'd made on her store. "Here, go put this on Half-Sack for me," she requested handing it to Abby.

Abby grinned and took the cash. "Excitement" she muttered, waggling her eyebrow. She stood up and went to find the bookie she'd been doing business with.

Cherry smiled at her, happy for the support. In the twenty four hours since Cherry had been dumped at Claire's apartment, the two had become something of friends. Claire was able to fill Cherry in about Charming, and Cherry was able to educate Claire concerning the MC life.

Claire turned back towards the ring, expecting to watch Half-Sack and his opponent set up for the next fight. Instead, she found Tig standing right in front of her. She took another swig of beer and waited for whatever offensive, baiting remark he had for her.

"So we're gambling now are we?" he deadpanned.

"Fuck you," she retorted rolling her eyes.

Tig shrugged. "I'm not passing judgment. It's just that in my experience, dignified local business owners don't usually don't make horrible bets on bare knuckle fights."

"Horrible bet?" She raised an eyebrow. "Have we been watching the same fights?" she asked him. "Your boy's been doing great, and the guy he's about to go up against is dead tired. I could take him out."

Tig glanced at the ring and looked back at her. "He's got a lot of pride though. That can cost you," he told her mysteriously before walking away to stand ring side as the fight started.

"What did he mean, Kip could loose?" Cherry asked, with a hint of concern on her face.

Claire shrugged and rolled her eyes again. "Nothing. He's just trying to fuck with me," she reassured Cherry. The girl still looked a little worried though. Claire rubbed the girl's shoulder a little. "Don't worry. He's going to be fine."

The beginning of the fight was touch and go. Half-Sack's opponent got in a couple good punches, but the kid held his own. He had endurance on his side. Still, Tig's cryptic statement nagged at Claire. Something was up.

A couple rounds into the fight. Claire and the other two girls were joined by Clay Morrow. Claire pretended to be engrossed in the fight as he struck up a somewhat personal discussion with Cherry.

"I hear that you declined Bobby's offer of comfort."

Cherry nodded. "Yeah. I'm not about that anymore."

"And if I were to ask for some comfort? Would you be about that?"

Cherry thought about it. Claire could sense that she was treading in dangerous waters, and Cherry knew it. "Nope," she finally answered. "Sorry, but your old lady would turn us both to chum."

"That's a good point." Clay conceded. "If Half-Sack patches in, and that's a big if," he explained. "It's all right with me if you stick around."

Claire noticed Cherry perk up a bit.

"That is," Clay continued, "if he wants you for his old lady."

Claire watched as she gave there her arms around Clay and kissed him on the cheek. and she wasn't the only one.

"Oh, shit!" Clay yelled when Half-Sack really started to lay into his opponent. "Shit! Half-Sack don't!" He stood up and made his way down towards the ring.

* * *

><p>After the match, in the parking lot, Claire covertly handed the two hundred that she'd won from the bet. She told him to put it towards the debt he owed the club after failing to throw the fight.<p>

"That was a sweet thing to do." Abby remarked as they were walking back to her car.

Claire shrugged. "The two of them are happy. Like, really happy. They deserve it."

"All I'm saying is that a gesture like that won't go unnoticed."

* * *

><p>Abby had been right, the exchange of cash between Clare Stanton and one of the Sons was observed well enough by one of Darby's men attending the fight.<p> 


	8. The Pull

Ernest Darby was feeling proud of himself. The wetbacks were going to take care of Clay. Without their leader, Samcro would fold. He'd finally be able to move in and take over. There was only one other person that stood in his way. That Stanton bitch. She knew enough to topple everything. That didn't matter anymore though. She'd be dead in the morning.

* * *

><p>"Well, how did you find your apartment?" Cherry asked through a mouthful of pastry.<p>

Abby shrugged as she swept the floor in front of the counter. "It's not really an apartment; it's just a furnished basement. I don't even have the bathroom to myself."

The other girl shrugged. "Well, something like that would be better than nothing. I mean, I love Half-Sack and I love the club, but I can't live in that dorm room much longer."

Abby grimaced as she bent down to pick up some crumpled wax paper. "I can see how that would get old real quick."

"Yeah. I'm either spending the night there, or bunking down with one of the crow eaters. Some of those girls are REALLY skanky." A comfortable silence fell over the room as Cherry thought things over. "What about you?" she finally asked Claire. "You looking for a roomie?"

Claire looked up from the ledger she'd laid out on the table in front of her and raised an eyebrow. "Have you seen the size of my apartment?" she asked rhetorically, "It's not really made for cohabitation."

Cherry scoffed. "So what? Lot's of places aren't meant to be lived in, but people do anyway. Like Vegas."

Abby snickered. Claire shook her head and chuckled to herself.

"I'm serious," Cherry continued. "You know I won't cause any problems, and I can help you out with rent."

Claire shrugged. She had slept better the night Cherry had stayed over, but she needed to keep at least one aspect of her life isolated from the Sons. That wouldn't happen if Cherry moved in. "I don't know, I really like having that space to myself." She calculated a few more figures in her book. "Couldn't you just find a place with Kip?"

Cherry shook her head. "Nah, man. He's not allowed out of the clubhouse until he patches in."

Abby interjected, asking "Things are going good with you two though?"

Cherry nodded and grinned. "Yeah. He's just the best you know. He's so different from any other guy that I've been with, you know? He's so loyal."

Claire remained silent. She'd become fast friends with Cherry since the night of the fight, but she still didn't fully comprehend her relationship with Kip.S he wondered how someone could get in so deep, so quickly with someone who came with the kind of baggage that Kip did. When you got involved with a Son, the club directly ruled your life.

"Once he's in," Cherry continued, "things will get even better."

Claire couldn't help but smile at that. The girl's passion and enthusiasm was contagious.

"Like this one time, when he got off of work, he was all covered in grease and he started stripping off his-"

Thankfully, or not depending on your perspective, Cherry was cut short when someone tapped on the front door to the shop.

"It's about damn time!" Cherry exclaimed, standing up and moving towards the window. She flipped the deadbolt open and quickly let Half-Sack into the store.

"You're late." Cherry scolded him.

The young boy gave a sheepish shrug in response. "I got held up. Club stuff."

Cherry rolled her eyes, "Whatever," she sighed, giving him a playful shove to the chest. "If I knew you'd be this late I would've walked back."

Kip just answered by slipping his arms around her waist and giving her a quick peck on a the lips. "Sorry," he finally mumbled. He let her go and appropriately greeted the other girls. "How's it going Claire? Abby?"

"Oh it's going alright. Your girl was just about to tell us a story." Abby explained. "Something about grease and stripping?"

Kip turned a little pink around his ears and mumbled something that sounded a lot like "that was private."

Cherry grinned and grabbed a fistful of his t-shirt, using it to drag him out the door. "See you bitches later," she tossed over her shoulder before the door shut behind them.

Claire got up to lock the door behind them and watched them for a moment out the window. They were smiling at each other as she climbed onto the back of his bike.

"Is that what you want?" she finally asked Abby.

Abby looked up while she whipped down the counter by the register. "Is _what_ what I want?"

Claire nodded towards the sound of Kip's bike starting up on the street. "That." She paused, searching for the words. "A relationship, you know. A long term thing with one of those guys."

Abby laughed. "Well, it's hard for me to imagine anything serious working out with Samcro. None of the guys left over there are really husband material."

"But?" Claire pushed.

"But... Yeah, I guess so. Something like what they have? That'd be nice. Find a guy, get married, have a couple kids." She stopped cleaning. "Why the sudden interest?"

Claire shrugged. "I don't know. Just thinking about things." She walked back to the table and shut the ledger. "It just kind of hit me, that I have no idea what I want. I mean, I've never thought that far into the future. I've just been so focused for so long on getting out of prison and getting ready to put the pieces of my life back together, that I never stopped and considered what the finished picture might look like."

Abby tossed away the paper towels and reached under the counter to grab her purse. "Well, you've got time." She laughed a little, "I mean, you're not even thirty yet." She walked over and gave Claire a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Whatever it is that you decide you want? There's plenty of time for you to go out there and get it."

Claire knew that Abby was right. She could have any kind of life that she wanted. She just had to fight tooth and nail to get it.

* * *

><p>She was still thinking about that late that night. Maybe that's what had driven her to pick up Jane Eyre again. She hadn't read through it since she'd been in prison; it had been one of her favorites when she'd been locked up. If anyone could start over and craft a new life for herself, Jane could.<p>

She was lounging on her sofa engrossed in Helen's death, when the door to her apartment slammed open and rattled on its hinges. In an instant, a rangy man with a thin beard was standing in the middle of her kitchen looking for something. Looking for her.

Claire's heart was beating like a race horse. All of a sudden, she was hyperaware of her surroundings yet powerless to move or make a sound.

Finally the man spotted Claire. He paused for a moment to sneer and laugh at whatever expression was on her face. Then, he lunged towards her.

When he moved, Claire's mind instinctively told her to flee. It knew that this was not a battle she could win. She dropped her book and scrambled off of the sofa, searching for a place to hide.

Before she could move very far though, the man grabbed her legs from behind and yanked them back towards him. Claire hit the wooden floor boards hard, bruising her shoulder and ribs where she landed. She tried to get up onto her knees, but her assailant grabbed hold and flipped her over onto her back. He sat on her hips, pinning her to the ground.

Claire reared up and lashed out at the man, making solid contact with the left side of his head. He reeled for a moment, and she was able to fasten her other hand into his hair and rake at his scalp with her nails.

Scratching at his head and face however, left hers wide open. He was able to wrap one of his hands around her throat and force her torso back onto the ground.

She released his dirty hair to try and claw at the hand around her windpipe, but he just squeezed harder, cutting off her air. Soon, the edges of her vision began to darken. Claire coughed and sputtered, trying to get air, any sort of air, into her lungs.

Her attacker stared down at her, his eyes cold and dull. "You stupid whore. You never could figure out your place, could you?"

Claire barely heard him. She felt like she was sinking into a warm, dark lake. She was dying. She KNEW that she was going to die, and that thought sent one last shot of adrenaline through her system.

Her body started twitching spastically, fighting for anything that could be won at that point. Claire reached out, trying to grab anything her hands could reach. She registered a small amount of surprise when she felt her right hand touch something sold. She gripped onto it as tightly as she could, and swung it with all the strength she had left.

It connected with a soft spot on the man's head, and he dropped down on top of her like wet cement.

When his hands went slack around her throat, claire inhaled as quickly and as deeply as she could. Her throat burned and she coughed as oxygen reentered her lungs. As soon as she realized that she could control her extremities, Claire scrambled out from under the man.

She stayed sitting on the floor next to him. She heaved out a couple labored breaths and looked over at what she'd thrown at his head. It was that god awful statue that Half Sack had given her. It was speckled at its base with blood.

She rolled her eyes and laughed weakly to herself. _Figured_.

She returned her focus to her attacker. The first thing she noticed was his ink. He was one of Darby's guys. She shoved his prone body onto his back and looked down at him. She realized, with a bit of a shock, that she _knew _him.

_Claire was walking down her parent's driveway, trying to quickly finish her cigarette before her mother came home. Last time Claire had smoked in the house, she'd dumped the cigarettes in the kitchen sink and run water over them. That pack had been nearly full._

_Absentmindedly, she reached into her pocket and pulled out her lighted, flicking it on and off, staring into the flame._

_She was so engrossed in it that she failed to notice the car barreling down towards the main road until it was upon her. Cigarette dangling from her mouth, she jumped out of the way to avoid being run down. She glanced at the driver as he rolled past. It was one of Shannon's friends; Claire had seen him around a couple times before. She didn't pay attention too closely; she had other things on her mind._

_Later when she tried to recall his features, after she found her sister's lifeless body in her family's garage, she couldn't remember anything definitive._

But here he was, lying on the floor of her apartment. She knew without a doubt that this man was the last person to see her sister alive. And he'd tried to kill her. And Claire knew that it would never stop, unless she did something to stop it. If she really wanted something, she had to fight for it herself.

When she saw him shift and start to come to, she grabbed the wooden statue in her hands and brought it down on his skull again, and again until she was certain that he'd never move again.

* * *

><p>Tig shut his phone and walked back towards Clay and Jax. They all watched the ambulance carrying McCevey drive away.<p>

"You think this hit was just about us? Or us and the Irishmen?" he asked them.

Clay shrugged, "I don't know."

"How would the Mayans know about the Irish?" Jax questioned.

"Darby. It was Darby, man" he asserted. "The Nords and the Mayans have joined forces. I saw happenin' weeks ago when they blew up that warehouse. I told you we should've handled it then." He gestured to his phone. "Just got a call from Claire. One of Darby's guys went after her too."

"Jesus Christ," Jax remarked, shaking his head. "She ok?"

Tig nodded. "Yeah. Point is, her getting hit like this? Can't be a coincidence. This is bloody Sunday brother. We gotta call in all the sons. All of 'em. Kill this cracker wetback alliance now."

Opie nodded. "Tig's right. We need bodies, need guns."

He looked at Jax; sensed the disagreement that was coming. Something had to be done there.

"Go get the girl." Clay told him, "Bring her to the clubhouse. We need to know exactly what happened on her end."

* * *

><p>Tig found her sitting on the steps in the alley behind her shop; barefoot, wearing cut offs and a sweatshirt. There was a sizable fire going in the street between the two buildings. It was neat though. Controlled. The air tasted like burnt meatloaf.<p>

She looked up at the sound of his boot steps on the pavement. He was having trouble reading her. Her expression seemed normal, a bit more subdued than usual. For someone that just killed a guy, she seemed extraordinarily calm.

"Did you drag him down here all by yourself?" he asked her.

Claire nodded.

"You clean up any mess he left behind?"

She just nodded again.

"What about the weapon?" he asked her carefully.

She just pointed towards the body. Tig squinted into the flames to see a lump of wood burning away on top of the flesh. "Smart," he commented.

"Lucky," she gasped out. Her voice was thick and scratchy like it had been on the phone. He glanced back at her and saw some deep bruises already forming on her throat. They made her look strong. Fierce.

"You need to get away from here," he told her. "Darby's going to send someone over to check on you. It's been a fucked up night."

She curiously raised an eyebrow.

"Mayans tried to take us out, hit an Irish friend of ours by mistake."

She still didn't move, didn't show any kind of response. If she was experiencing any sort of trauma bullshit, that was the dead to last thing he needed tonight, pun intended.

With a heavy sigh he sat down next to her on the steps, ready to coach her into riding back to the clubhouse with him.

"Doing something like you did tonight; you might feel a little... off for a while. But you can't let that hold you back." He scratched at his chin looking for the right words. "This feeling, or whatever shit's going on right now will fade after a while. you just need to press on."

She finally looked over at him. "I'm not sad, or guilty," she rasped out. "He tried to KILL me. He probably killed my sister" She looked back at the fire. "I'm glad," she firmly stated. "It's a good thing that he's dead."

Tig couldn't help what happened next. He reached out and touched her, running his fingers through her tangled hair. Then he kissed her firmly on the temple.

"Good. Now let's get out of here."

She looked back at the fire. "Give me a little while longer," she protested, reaching out for his hand. She even smiled. "I don't set many fires like this. I need to watch it, see how it works."

Tig gave a heavy sigh and rubbed her wrist. "You have five minutes, and then you better go and grab some shoes. I don't want to get my ass shot off because you want to get off watching a dead guy burn."

Claire scoffed and rolled her eyes. "It's not like that."

"No?"

"No. It's something else. S0omething... compelling."

He sat with her for a moment, taking in the night. It seemed so peaceful, so quiet. Then he remembered everything that had happened and he felt a wave of tiredness wash over him.

She must have sensed it because before he could say anything else she slipped up the stairs into her apartment, returning with a pair of sneakers and her shoulder bag. She stood at the base of the stairs putting them on. "How long will I have to leave for?" she asked him.

"Don't know." he shrugged. "For tonight, at least. You might be able to come back during the day, might not. It's too soon to tell."

She watched the fire for a moment. Something deep in the flames popped and cracked, and Claire seemed satisfied. She motioned that she was ready to go.

He hoisted himself back to his feet and grabbed her hand, leading him towards his bike.


	9. Hell Followed

Claire was sitting at the bar in the clubhouse, nursing a beer. It was late and she was starting to feel small and tired, being alone in the big room. She kept flashing back to the look on that man's face as he lay dead in the alley. Right after she'd killed him and dragged him down her apartment steps

And then, she thought about how she'd felt nothing. No pain or regret over the fact that she'd taken a life. No hesitation as she poured cooking oil over him and lit the match. She wasn't sure if it was because that man hadn't been worth feeling those things over, or if it was because she just lacked the capacity to feel.

And then she started thinking of the relief and borderline joy she'd felt afterwards when she had been sitting on the steps with Tig, watching him burn. She could still picture his face melting in the flames.

She started peeling at the label on her beer bottle, letting the ideas cycle through her head again and again. Her mind didn't even register it when the club house door opened and a set of heels came sauntering in.

Someone pulled at the back of her sweatshirt, yanking her out of her thoughts.

"C'mon, I need your help."

Claire turned her head, slightly surprised to find Gemma Morrow standing behind her. By the time she slipped off her bar stool, the other woman had already disappeared into the kitchen.

Claire followed out of sheer curiosity. She stood in the doorway and leaned against the wall for a split second, but a sudden sharp pain in her ribs made her jump back.

"Well don't just stand there," Gemma scolded.

"What did you need help with?" Claire asked, rubbing her side.

"Getting this place together," she responded opening cabinets and riffling through their contents, "We're expecting some company."

Claire remained silent, squishing a bug under her shoe as it ran by.

"Cleanliness isn't exactly their strong suit." Gemma commented, turning on the tap and running water over the dishes in the sink.

"How much company?" Claire asked, taking a peek into the fridge. It was pretty well stocked with milk, cheese, and meats; the staples.

"Around twenty extra guys."

Claire let the fridge door swing shut. _Not that well stocked_, she thought.

Gemma turned away from the sink and stared her down. "It'd be good if we could have something hot when they get here. " She cocked an eyebrow, "Any ideas?"

Claire sighed and opened a drawer and absentmindedly looked through the silverware inside. "Why is it that whenever people need something from me, it's always food?"

Gemma grinned. "Probably because you're a baker. You feed people, it's what you do." She paused for a moment and propped a hand on her hip. "Ain't nothing wrong with that."

Claire shut the drawer again, remembering the last time she'd been in this kitchen. She had been wary of loosing her independence, of becoming reliant on the Sons. She still was.

Claire knew that she could look after herself, the dull throbbing across her ribs and the around her throat were proof of that. Claire reached up to try and sooth the ache there. Sometimes though, no matter how strong you were, the thing you were going up against could be stronger.

Abby was right. If you wanted to make it in Charming, you couldn't do it on your own. You needed to pick a side. Ten years ago, she'd hadn't really picked a side. Shannon had picked the wrong one.

Gemma reached out and gently grabbed her hand, moving it away from her neck. She glanced at the bruises and then looked Into Claire's eyes. "The boys told me what happened," she spoke softly. "Keeping your hands busy?" she nodded towards the stove, "It's the best thing you could do right now."

Claire looked at the woman for a moment, and she suddenly realized what it was about Samcro that was different. She knew why the club was trusted by the people in Charming, and that throwing in her lot with them would be different from the way her sister had joined the Nords. Samcro and the people associated with it actually _cared_. While they had the strength to draw her in and strip her of everything, they wouldn't.

Claire nodded. "Biscuits and gravy would be a good choice," she suggested. "I make good biscuit."

Gemma nodded in approval. The queen of Charming was pleased with her answer. "I'll go call in a few girls to help you out." She walked back out into the main room and gathered her things. "Make some coffee while you're at it too," she called back into the kitchen. "We're going to need it."

* * *

><p>Claire was standing behind the bar looking for coffee filters when a group of the sons rushed in, ushering in a man on a stretcher with his pants around his ankles.<p>

"Holy shit," she remarked.

One of the sons broke off from the pack as the others wheeled the man into a back room. Claire recognized him as the man who'd help Half Sack deliver her sofa. "Nothin' holy about it darlin'" he remarked before requesting the bottle of scotch on the counter. Claire handed it over and he swiftly disappeared into the back room. Only Clay and Tig were left on the other side. They both came wandering over to the bar.

"How are you doing?" Clay asked her as Tig took a seat.

Claire rested her hands on the bar and nodded. "I'm alright." Her voice was still a little hoarse. She tried clearing her throat. "Staying busy."

Clay nodded. "Yeah, Gemma told me what you're doing. We really appreciate that."

Claire just shrugged.

"The guy that went after you, how sure are you that he was with Darby?"

Claire looked at the older man. There was sympathy in his eyes, but a little doubt too. She made sure to look him right in the eye as she answered.

"Very. I saw his ink and I saw his face. I recognized him from when my sister used to run with Darby's crew."

"Any chance he was Mexican?"

She shook her head. "No, none."

"Was anyone else with him?"

She thought back, She didn't remember seing anyone else, but that didn't mean they didn't see her. She just shrugged. "I don't think so, but they could've left before I came outside."

Clay nodded, satisfied for now. "Start rounding up whatever guns and ammunition we have," Clay murmured to Tig, "I want us secured."

Tig nodded. "Yeah, no problem."

"And go double check that alley," Clay ordered walking out towards the garage. "Make sure the rest of that body is taken care of. That's a loose end we really don't need."

There was a silence after the two of them were alone. It was a bit awkward.

"How's it going?" he asked her in a strangely compassionate tone.

She nodded. "I'm fine," she gave him a half smile, "I'm always fine."

Claire turned around and continued her search. She could hear Tig tapping his fingers on the bar behind her. "Hey do you know where the coffee filters are?" she finally asked him.

"Try the bottom shelf," he told her.

She bent down but only found what seemed to be the contents of someone's junk drawer. "Are you sure?" she asked him.

"Oh yeah," he affirmed. "Keep looking."

She glanced at him over her shoulder, and found his gaze honed in on her ass.

"Seriously?" she croaked out, exasperated.

"Oh yeah," he nodded.

"For that, you owe me a fucking cappuccino," she demanded.

Tig laughed. "I have no idea where they are. I think we're fucking out."

Claire made a noise in deep in the back of her throat and started searching through more drawers, slamming them open and shut.

"Can I have a drink?"

She tried ignoring him.

"Do you even have a bra on? I think I can see your tits through that shirt."

Claire turned around and grabbed a bottle of beer from one of the coolers, and forcibly set it down on the bar without saying a word.

"Aren't you going to open it?" he asked her.

"No." she answered simply.

He opened it himself and took a swig.

"You're the worst bartender ever," he remarked as she walked back towards the kitchen.

* * *

><p>Several hours later, Claire was surrounded by busicuts. She had loaded a bunch into aluminum pans, there were more in the oven, and extra dough was in the fridge. As soon as the other girls got here, Claire would get them started on the gravy and then she'd grab some sleep.<p>

She'd spend most of the night baking and making coffee, the process interrupted by occasional cries from the Irishman and the sounds of sons carrying guns into the main room.

She was exhausted.

She wandered back out into the main room and made for the coffee machine. She almost didn't notice the chief of police speaking in hushed tones with Clay. The doors to the back room were both wide open. Both Tig and Gemma looked concerned.

Claire walked over to where Tig was sitting by the bar and shot him a questioning look. He just shook his head and took a drag from his cigarette. Claire crossed her arms across her chest and leaned against the bar, watching the exchange.

"The Mayans went after us too," Clay told the chief.

"God Damn it," the man in the uniform swore.

"We didn't have nothing to do with Darby," Clay continued. "If anything, he tried to hurt us. Sent a guy after Claire."

Unser's eyes glanced over at Claire, noticing her for the first time. Claire nodded, confirming the statement.

"The dead Mexicans were the result of their own stupidity, but I made sure that didn't land in Charming."

"Barely," Unser retorted. "And what about the guy that went after her?"

Tig shrugged. "No one's going to notice that guy went missing, I made sure of it."

Still, he shook his head. "My office's still got the stink of ATF. This body count is going to bring that haughty bitch circling back." He paused, then continued, "I need you to come with me, alright? Due process."

"I got nothing to hide," Clay shrugged.

Both Tig and Gemma stepped forward. Claire moved behind the bar and busied herself pouring a cup of coffee, steering clear of this confrontation.

"Hey," she heard Tig interject, "you do not go alone."

Unser scoffed. "I think I can keep him safe."

"I'll be alright," Clay reassured Tig. "You hold it together here."

"I'll meet you down there." Gemma told clay as he moved for the door.

"No." Clay commanded her, "you stay put." He kissed her goodbye and gave Tig a meaningful look.

"Yeah," he nodded, "I'll look after her."

Claire stared down in her coffee cup until she heard the door shut behind her. Then she looked up at Tig, she was puzzled about something. "What did you do with the remains? I mean I burn the shit out of it, but there must've been something left over."

Tig looked like he was about to answer when there was a sudden outcry from the back room. Both he and Gemma rushed to stand in the doorway.

Claire overheard pieces of a discussion centered around bleeding and medical supplies. From what she gathered, the Irishman wasn't faring well.

After a moment, Gemma broke away from the group that had formed and started gathering her things. Tig came rushing after her.

"Gemma, where you going?"

"To find Jax and Tara."

"No, no, no. You heard what Clay said. Family stays put."

"You got two choices Tigger, tackle me or tag along."

Tig sighed. "Now I got nothing but adoration for you, why you gotta give me such a hard time for?"

"It's in my nature," she responded, shoving past him, "I'm a giver."

Tig rolled his eyes. "This is why I beat hookers," he told no one in particular. He opened the door and then turned to face Claire. "Don't burn the place down while I'm gone, alright?"

Clair stood there holding the coffee pot and shook her head in frustration. "What about that body?" she asked.

"We'll talk about that later." He shouted over his shoulder.

* * *

><p>"Jesus Christ, and you didn't freaking call me before now?"<p>

Claire rolled her eyes as she lifted the lid on the gravy and gave it a stir. "I've had a lot on my mind," she repeated as she added a bit more seasoning to the mix.

Abby leaned back against the counter and sighed heavily. "You know, for someone who keeps saying she doesn't want to get mixed up in any kind of trouble, you have a real knack for finding it."

"Yeah," Claire agreed sarcastically, slamming the lid down. "I just invited that hit man into my apartment and offered him a cup of tea."

Abby scratched behind her ear. "That's not what I meant, and you know it."

"I know," she admitted gruffly, suddenly aware of the lack of sleep. "It's just been a long night."

"Are these all set or do they need a minute?" a woman in a zebra stripped halter top asked looking into a bag of snacks that Gemma had brought over.

Claire rubbed the back of her neck. "Those are going in the other room, I think."

The woman nodded and carted them out.

Abby saw a shadow cross her friend's face and reached out, enveloping her in a great bear hug.

"What do you need?" she asked into her friend's ear.

Clair pulled back and raked her fingers through her hair. "I need you to go watch the shop. I can't leave here and I can't afford to loose the business."

Abby crossed her arms in front of her chest. "What do you expect me to sell?"

Claire shrugged."Just do what you can. There's some stuff left over from yesterday. Sell it at a discount. We'll take a hit, but it won't be as bad."

Abby bit a fingernail and nodded. "It's done, don't worry about it."

"Thanks."

"What are you still doing in here?" Gemma asked, poking her head into the kitchen. "You're dead on your feet." She remarked, and then turned to Abby. "Go put her in the apartment upstairs. No one will mind. Not today."

Abby showed Claire to the apartment before she left for the bakery. The place wasn't too bad. It was more spacious than the dorm rooms downstairs, but sported the same decor and funky smell. She didn't mind though. She was asleep as soon as she hit the mattress.

* * *

><p>The party was in full swing when Abby noticed Claire wander out from the back rooms. She snagged an extra cup off the bar and walked over to meet her friend. She poured half her drink into it and handed it over to the red head.<p>

"Nice of you to join us," she remarked.

Claire took the glass and gingerly rubbed her ribs. Abby noticed that the bruises around her neck had turned a deeper shade of purple while she'd slept. "Should you be seeing a doctor?"

Claire shook her head. "I've been through worse. I'll be fine."

"_Worse_?" Abby exclaimed.

"Shut up," Claire chided her taking a healthy swig from the cup and grimaced a little. "What the fuck is this?"

"Mostly vodka…I think." She toasted Claire's cup and continued, "Regardless, you've got a lot of catching up to do."

Claire seemed to notice, for the first time, that the club house was chocked full of people, not all of them regulars.

"What's the occasion?" she asked.

Abby shrugged. "Not entirely sure. It probably has a little something to do with your incident yesterday. But then again, you don't really need an excuse to party when half the people here are from out of state charters."

Claire took another swig from the cup. "I shouldn't be doing this. I have to _work_ tomorrow."

Abby laughed and threw an arm around her friend's shoulder and started moving them towards the door. "Oh shut up, you bitch. Work, will still be standing when we get there tomorrow. Tonight, we're going to have some fun. "

The air outside was cool and refreshing. The hit of it almost made Abby sober up, until Claire got them both a round of beers. Abby introduced Claire to the group of girls she usually hung with. Some she'd already met in the kitchens, others were new friends. They had more drinks, and watched some of the fights. Claire, an unusual eye for talent in the ring, won twenty bucks off one of the guys from Nevada. Cherry found this particularly amusing.

Before long, they were both well sloshed and standing amidst a bunch of plastic chairs and picnic tables. For some reason Claire was laughing like a maniac.

"So I take it you're having a good time?"

She snorted into her drink and laughed some more. "Yeah, I guess I am."

Abby grinned when she noticed Tig sitting in one of the chairs behind Claire, amused at her disposition. "Good," she said. "Because that's what this is all about. Being alive, and enjoying it."

Claire sobered up for a split second and reached up to sooth the bruises around her neck and nodded.

Abby reached out and drunkenly used her fingers to point Claire's face into a smile. "So, enjoy it!"

She laughed out loud when Claire when yelped as Tig yanked at her wrist and pulled her down onto his lap. She tried taking a swipe at him, but lost her balance and almost fell to the floor.

"_What!_?" she finally demanded.

Tig took a swig from his beer and shrugged. "Just wanted to let you know that you're free to go. Darby probably won't be coming after you any more."

Claire raised an eyebrow. "Probly?" she slurred.

"Yeah, well. No guarantees in life. But you can leave if you want to."

She narrowed her eyes. "I'm not sure I want to do that," she told him. "I mean, if there are no guarantees. What's to stop me from getting killed on the walk home."

Tig slyly smiled at her and took another drink. "I just wanted you to know all your options before you made a decision." He paused, searching for the right words. "You know, for your own safety."

"Well, that's good to know," Claire retorted with a sarcastic smirk, "that you have my personal safety at mind," before leaning in and kissing Tig full on the lips.

Abby grinned and started backing away, but not before stealing Claire's beer. "Right then, I'll leave you to it."

_One of them is full of buillshit_, _and the other can't stand it_, she thought to herself as she wandered off in search of someone to make her feel alive. _It'll be fun to watch that play out._


	10. Better Half

"I really don't get it." June Stahl wondered out loud before letting the picture of Tara Knowles fall to her desk.

_Or That,_ she thought as her eyes settled on the mug shot of a red headed sixteen year old.

Claire Stanton's life was so clichéd it was almost boring. She was born to wealthy parents. Her mother came from old money and her father, a DA in San Quentin, from new. She grew into a rebellious teenager with a rap sheet freckled with misdemeanors and a few arson charges that her father was able to keep under the rug. That was, until the time she lit up the family home, killing her older sister. Claire pled guilty to all charges and spent two years in a Juvenile facility before being shipped off to the women's prison.

After her conviction, she turned into a model prisoner. She got her GED, participated in the work program, and took some business classes. One of the visiting professors serving the prison population had written her a glowing letter of recommendation for the parole board. She was released early for good behavior, came home to Charming a changed woman and started a small business.

Then, less than a month ago, she suddenly became involved with Samcro. And no one seems to know why. If June was a betting woman, which she was, she would put money on the redhead talking. Sure, the other three girls might be scared enough to spill, but Claire Stanton was smart enough.

* * *

><p><em>Fear cuts deeper tan swords,<em> Arya Stark reminded herself as Claire nibbled on a stale cookie, engrossed in the child's escapades.

It was a quiet day in Charming. Claire had ambled back to her apartment from the clubhouse early in the morning after spending the night with Tig. Abby would be coming in shortly to mind the shop, her time was her own.

"Those will go right to your hips, you know," commented a voice that Claire didn't recognize.

She raised an eyebrow and peered over the top of her book. Standing at the foot of the stairs was a well put together blond wearing a sharp business suit.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

The woman looking up at her smirked. "Are you Claire Stanton?"

"I am," Claire answered wearily.

The woman planted her hands on her hips, brushing aside her suit jacket and flashing Claire her badge. "I'm going to need you to come with me," she ordered.

A quick shiver of fear shot up Claire's spine. It was all she could do to not look at the spot on the floor where mere weeks ago, she'd dropped a body. _There was no way she could know_, Claire thought, _There was no way anyone could know_.

"May I ask why?" Claire asked; cursing herself as her voice raised an octave on the last word.

"Suspicion of parole violation. It's strictly routine. We just need to ask a few questions, get you to pee in a cup. It shouldn't hurt." The woman grinned, "Much."

_Routine my ass_. This had to be the ATF woman she'd heard so much about. Federal agents didn't usually spend their time looking into parole violations. _What was she after?_

"If you don't come willingly, we will have to create a scene," the woman reminded her. "And I'm guessing that won't be good for business."

Claire sighed, imagining the gossip that would generate, and threw her book into her bag before ambling down the steps after the fed.

* * *

><p>"Got Luanne on drug charges, Cherry on theft and arson, and Abby says Claire got hauled in for questioning, but no one knows why." Clay recapped.<p>

"That don't make sense," Half-Sack murmured.

"Stahl's trying to use RICO against the club," Unser explained. "If she can prove her case? She can take you all down."

"And if we go down?"

"Why do you think I'm sitting at the god damned table Scotty."

"We got anything to be worried about with the Doc?" Clay asked Jax. "She's seen a lot of shit over the past few weeks."

"Little Miss Tara's the one who got ATF here in the first place," Tig quipped.

"You got nothing to worry about with Tara," Jax rebutted. "I trust her. Can you say the same thing for Claire? She's seen and done worse."

"Yeah, _done_," Tig emphasized. "She's not going to give anything up, because it would bring her down right with us. Plus, anything she's done is well hidden."

"Then why the fuck has she been brought in for questioning?" Bobby interjected.

* * *

><p>"You are aware of the terms of your parole?" Agent Stahl asked as Claire was escorted back into the interview room.<p>

Claire nodded and put the cup of urine on the table before sitting down. If for whatever reason that roofie popped up on the drug scan, she was going to kill Juice.

"So," Agent Stahl began, "have you been involved in any illegal activity since your release from state custody?"

One of her hands came up to rub at her throat before she caught herself. Claire took a breath and stacked her hands one on top of the other in front of her. Killing the man who'd come after her was the right thing to do. Telling the authorities about it was the wrong thing. It would bring no one anything but hurt.

"No," she finally answered.

Stahl ticked something off in a file in front of her before glancing up at Claire and continuing. "Are you aware of any illegal activity committed by any members of the Sons of Anarchy?"

"No," Claire answered immediately. Tig had explained the rules to her. If anyone asked, you didn't know anything.

"If you do know about something, even something small that you might think is insignificant, it would work in your favor to tell us now."

"I really don't know anything," Claire persisted.

Agent Stahl smiled. It was a knowing, sarcastic smile. "See, that's what I find hard to believe." She opened another manila folder sitting on the table and pulled out a photograph to show Claire.

It was Claire standing in the parking lot at the clubhouse talking with Tig. Judging by her clothes it was two days ago.

"You spend a lot of time over there," the agent commented. "Anything you remember seeing? We hear a lot of whispers about these guys. Drugs, guns, violence. Anything ring a bell?"

"No," Claire repeated.

Agent Stahl cocked her head to the left and stared at Claire for a moment.

"Look Claire, I know you were released early for good behavior. You seem, for the most part, like a stand up citizen. Tell me anything you know right now, and I promise you I will do everything I can to keep you from serving the rest of your sentence. If you don't, the smallest thing you think of could be enough to send you back inside. It's hard enough to put your life back together after incarceration, I'd hate to try and see you do it a second time."

Claire thought about it. About what it would be like to have to go back to prison. It would be hard to keep her business going, but she had people that could look after things. As for doing the time?

"I'm not scared of going back to prison," Claire answered with certainty. "And if you have any more questions, I'd prefer to answer them with an attorney present."

Stahl put the picture back in the file, but left the folder open. "We thought you might want to lawyer up," Stahl admitted, "so we've already given your representation a call. He should be here soon."

Claire's brow furrowed in confusion. She had been planning on asking for a public defender. They could only hold her for forty eight hours without charging her, requesting an attorney be appointed would eat up some of that time.

"I don't understand," she admitted, "I don't have a lawyer."

"Don't you?" Stahl asked looking down at the file again. "A Mr. George Stanton? He represented you in juvenile court," she continued.

"Those files are sealed," Claire protested.

The agent grinned."I'm sure you'll find Ms. Stanton, that nothing stays buried."

She stood and gathered her things. "Something you should keep in mind if you plan to continue your association with Samcro." She walked over to the door and held it open, "say 'hi' to dad for me."

Claire watched the door as it shut behind the fed. The sound of the latch catching echoed in the room. It was so quiet in there. For the first time all morning Claire found that she had some time to herself. Some time to think. What on the fuck was going on?

Did she even know about anything that they could catch her on? Aside from the dead body, all she'd witnessed at the club house was some drug use. If they were trying to get anyone on drug charges, they could just pull the guys in on some bullshit like this and administer drug tests.

There was that man that had been shot though, from last week. With all that had been going on, she'd almost forgot about that. Could be something to do with him? She never even saw the man's face. If that was brought up, she could easily deny it.

_Christ_, she thought, _How on earth did I get here_?

And then the door opened again and she remembered.

She looked up to find her father staring there, wearing a suit and carrying a beaten up briefcase. It was the same one he used to bring when she'd get hauled in for shit things when she was a kid. Her mom had been begging him to get a new one for years, but he always refused.

"Dad," she greeted him. She didn't quite know what to do, so she awkwardly stayed sitting at the table and stared at her hands. She looked back up at him and couldn't help but experience a case of déjà vu.

He returned her gaze with a mixed expression; part disappointment and part acceptance.

"They didn't even tell me what you've been brought in for this time," he finally spoke before walking over and taking the seat opposite her.

"Questioning," she admitted after a pause. "About what, they haven't told me."

"Claire, I have to advise you as your attorney, that if you have been involved in any criminal activity to tell me about it now."

"I haven't done anything wrong," she told him. "I told you, I have no idea why they brought me in here," she lifted her hands gesturing to the room they were in.

It was all so familiar. She couldn't help but feel fourteen years old again. Only, she wasn't that person anymore. She wasn't a little girl anymore, wandering around the world, making up her own rules.

Her father interrupted her thoughts with a blunt question. "Do you want to go back to prison Claire?"

She knew that on some level, she deserved his disbelief, but it still hurt.

"Dad, I'm not involved in anything," she pleaded. "I've been seeing one of the guys over at Samcro, and they've probably just brought me in because of that."

There was a long pause as her father ran his hands through his hair. "If you continue to make these decisions and associate with those people, you're going to bring yourself nothing but trouble. Even if you've done nothing wrong."

Claire nodded, tears misting behind her eyes. "I know, but I can't go down any other road."

She wrung her hands searching for words. Finally she looked back up at him. "I'm not like you and mom, dad. I was never made for that world. I know I made some bad decisions when I was younger, but that was just because I was struggling so much to live life the way I wanted to with the rules I was given. I can't go back to that. Please don't ask me to. It would kill me."

Her father sighed. "Your mother's been worried about you. Ever since we got those pictures."

Claire nodded. "You don't have to worry about those anymore, it's been handled."

He looked at her cautiously. "How?"

Claire paused. "I haven't done anything wrong," she told him again

Another federal agent cracked open the door to the interrogation room, preventing Claire from saying anything else.

"Agent Stahl would like to speak with Ms. Stanton," he told them.

Before she could even think of a response, her father addressed the flunky. "You can tell Agent Stahl that unless he's questioning my client in regards to a specific incident, she's to be released from custody immediately. If she's held any longer than necessary, the San Quentin DAs office will be filling a formal complaint against her."

He turned back to Claire after the door had been shut again. "You are my daughter," he paused. "The only one I have left. If you ever need help, I'll be here."

He bent down to pick up his briefcase. "Now, I have to go get some of this paperwork settled away. Someone should be in to let you go soon."

* * *

><p>It was well past dark by the time Claire's paperwork was processed and she was able to get back to her apartment. She was tired and was looking forward to having the rest of the evening herself before turning on her Goodwill radio and heading for sleep<p>

She was halfway up the flight of steps behind the bakery when a work van pulled into the alley and Jax ambled out of the driver's seat.

"How are you?" he asked her. "We've been trying to get info on you all day."

Claire rolled her eyes and hoisted her bag higher on her shoulder. "Federal custody, that's where the fuck I've been," she answered in an exasperated tone.

"Yeah, we know. What did they bring you in on?" he asked her.

Claire shrugged. "Suspicion of parole violation," she told him. "I have no idea why. They ran a drug test, questioned me about the club, and then let me go." She paused and considered Jax' earlier tone. "Do you know why this happened?" she asked him.

Jax rubbed his chin and nodded. "Yeah, the Feds went after all the women today. Tried to press them for information. Anything that could be used against the club."

Claire heart skipped a beat as she looked at Jax. "I didn't tell them anything," she stressed.

Jax nodded. "I know. If you did, they wouldn't have let you go. But that's not why we're here. We need a favor."

Claire raised an eyebrow as Jax nodded over to the passenger side of the van. Claire had to squint to see through the smudged glass, but it looked like it was the chief of police sitting there.

There was a creak as the back doors to the van opened, and after a clicking of heels, Cherry walked into view. She rushed past Claire and took her apartment keys.

"Abby's going to meet you here is a couple minutes," Jax continued, "and you're both going to give that one a ride up to the cabin. Abby knows where it is."

Confusion flew through around in Claire's head. "What? Why?" She turned around to see Cherry open her apartment door and walk in. "What's going on Jax?"

"I don't have time to explain," he answered walking back to the van. "She'll tell you everything if the two of you don't burn the building down first."

Claire watched, stupefied, as the van backed out of the alley and drove off.

Looking for answers she turned around and walked the remaining steps up into her apartment.

Cherry was sitting on Claire's sofa, quietly rocking back and forth. "What the hell is going on?" Claire asked her.

Cherry looked up at her with a face full of guilt. "They broke me out of the police station," she admitted.

Claire's eyebrows shot up into her hairline and she reached behind her, firmly shutting the outside door.

"Shit, Cherry," she exclaimed in a hushed tone. "What the hell for?"

Cherry bounced up and started pacing. "There are warrants out for me in Nevada," she admitted. "For arson and for attempted murder. That ATF bitch threatened me with extradition and hard time."

Claire leaned against the shut door and put the pieces together.

"I can't go to prison," Cherry rambled on. "I'm not like you Claire. I'm not strong enough to wait this kind of thing out."

Claire nodded, wanting to give her friend more credit than she was giving herself, but she knew in her heart that Cherry was right. She would crack into pieces on the inside. She'd tell them everything, and she'd seen a lot.

Cherry stood there ringing her hands, waiting for Claire to say something. Anything.

Claire pushed away from the door and placed her hands gently on Cherry's shoulders. "Everyone's taking a big risk for you, you know that right?"

Cherry nodded, fighting back tears. "I know. And thank you." She grabbed onto Claire and the two women held each other fiercely.

"So don't fuck it up," Claire mumbled into Cherry's shoulder. "It's your turn for a new start now. Make it count."

A loud honk sounded out from the alley. "That's Abbey's car," Claire announced as she pulled away from Cherry, "we better get going."

* * *

><p>Claire spent the rest of the night and early morning at a cabin in the woods drinking beers with Cherry and the wounded Irishman as they waited for the others to show up. She saw his face this time, but never learnt his name.<p>

Shortly after dawn, a convoy formed to take the wanted man and woman up through Canada. Where they went from there, Claire had no idea.

After the truck and the bikes drove off, Gemma introduced Claire to Tara Knowles; a local doctor and what was shaping up to be Jax's old lady.

That was they day that Claire learned that while some friends could never stay in your life forever; there would always be another soul ready to take their place.


End file.
